Similarity and Causality
by CadenGallic
Summary: Across the sea's from the once proud UAA, another organisation of assassins has risen from the United Kingdom. This new assosciation is just as crooked as their inspirers, as assassins climb through the ranks. This is the story of Jordan Argo, a man trapped in the strings of the association, being lead and tricked at every turn as he cuts down the ranks.
1. Prologue part I

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Prologue: Zero to hero

A loser. That was how he was described. That was how Jordan Argo lived his life. He was a 21 year old who lived alone in an apartment at the end of the suburbs in. He ordered pizza for his meals, watched porn tapes, and went round the gym once a week. And it was only today that he started caring. It was his 21st birthday and he didn't have enough money for anything. His part time job paid enough for his pizza and videos but not much else. And today was also, the day his life would change. Forever.

His alarm clock blared at him, urging him to wake up. Drowsily, he reached over and smacked it, shutting it up. He rolled belly up and sat up in his bed, covers on the floor. He gave a little sigh and forced himself to his feet. He surveyed his room. It was a real box. The bed took up most of the room's floor space, while more was taken up by the wardrobe and a chest of drawers with a mirror. Rubbish and clothes were strewn over the floor and it stank like a skip.

"Another day in casa de crap..." he thought to himself, changing into some crumpled clothes on the floor. He looked at his calendar and his memory sparked with the date. The 19th of September. He gave another sigh and thought about what to do. After some debating in his brain, he went over to his room's door and left, locking it behind him.

Jordan had only been to a bar once. He'd been goaded by a friend there and he hadn't set foot in one since. He'd never thought highly of bars... mainly due to the lowlifes that went there. But today...today he had a lapse in his sober brain...and entered the "Tipped Bottleneck" as it said in non laminated neon. He sat at the bar side and said to the bartender, a man in his fifties

"Beer please"

"Cuttin' to the 'art of it there eh?" replied the man in a ruddy accent.

"Just get it" he replied bitterly. The barkeep nodded and turned on the beer tap, filling the glass mug. He placed it on the table and slid it to his customer. Jordan peered down into the golden brown liquid. He'd only had a beer once...and as he took a sip, a familiar buzz filled his body. He shuddered a little and drank some more, taking in his surroundings. The bar was rather dingy, lit by some weak overhead lights. There were three other people. Two men, arm wrestling over the last pint they could afford and a cloaked figure, presumably female from the bulge in her shirt. He eyed her for a while, wondering their size...

SLAM!

The loud noise broke him from his fantasies. A man had entered the room. He was quite tall, had a face carved from stone and a square jaw. In his hand was what looked like...

"Oh shit, a gun!" yelled Jordan and he hit the floor. The man snorted.

"Now, where the hell are you bitch?" shouted the man around the room. The cloaked woman rose to her feet earning a hate filled look from the man. He brought his gun up and pointed it at her.

"Now, get ready to die!" he shouted and clicked his gun, but before he even fired, the gun disintegrated in his hand, the metal pieces fell to the ground. "What the he-"came the man's voice but he was cut short and his last words died in his throat. He crumbled backwards and fell to the ground. The woman replaced her special gun back in the folds of her cloak and brought her hood down revealing her face. Jordan looked up and gave a visual "Whoa" as her saw her. Her face was beautiful and she had smoking hot red hair. She sighed and sat back down.

"I'm getting too old for this crap..." she lamented and then noticed the guy ogling her. She smirked at him. "You can get up now" she joked. Jordan went red and was up faster than a gunshot. She smiled at him and asked him to come over. Jordan went over and sat across from her. "So...ya got a name tag doggy?" she joked.

"Um yeah...Jordan." he answered. "And you?" She flicked some hair out of her face.

"Vespia. Vespia Tarot." She replied, looking over at the bar tender, trying to shuffle the corpse out of the bar. "That's the third one this week...god I'm getting sick of this..."

"Say...what was that all about?" inquired Jordan. Vespia gave him a strange look.

"I'm an assassin...for the UKAA. I'm ranked 31 and there's always someone trying to take your place..." she explained. Jordan looked confused.

"Ranked...assassins? UKAA?" he asked curiously. Vespia sensed an opportunity.

"The United Kingdom's assassin association. Say...I don't suppose you could do me a massive favour. I'd sure be grateful" she said sweetly, leaning forward a little, giving Jordan a fairly good view of what he'd been staring at earlier. Jordan gave a discrete glance at them.

"Um...w-w-what is it?" he stuttered.

"Could you...maybe...take my place in the ranks? I'd reaaaally appreciate it" she almost pleaded in a seductive voice. Jordan hesitated. This girl was clearly strong and super hot. Maybe she might even go out with him if he agreed...but then again...becoming an assassin would be hard. Having to kill people tougher than him...was it worth that?

"...sure, I can do that" he smiled as his sense of reason abandoned him. Vespia beamed.

"You're the best Jordan. I'll call up the UKAA offices and tell them." She passed him a card over the table. "Here is their number...and mine" she concluded with a wink. She then got to her feet and left the Tipped Bottleneck via the main door. Jordan blinked a few times.

"Shit...what just happened?"


	2. Prologue part II

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Prologue II: Armed and infamous

The heavy wooden door of the Tipped Bottleneck closed behind him, as Jordan left the bar. Still confused at what he'd witnessed, he put a hand on his forehead and thought. Some hot chick had killed a man...Jordan had agreed to take her place as an assassin...and there was some organization controlling all this? The words still made no sense to him. What he did figure out, is he'd have to fight for his life. And if he was going to do that, he needed a weapon of some sort. The imprints of the two individuals weapons...guns...and something told him there'd be much worse. Well where was he going to get a weapon? After some more mind debating, he decided to wander around and look for an armoury or an arms merchant or something of that description.

After some searching, he came across a mysterious place. It was out of place from the rest of the buildings around the city. It was made of stone...old style stone. And there was smoke pouring out of a chimney. A wooden sign was hung above the doorway. It read "Blacksmiths. All things metal in stock." Jordan smirked. This was just perfect. He walked straight in.

The moment he entered, the strong smell of smoke engulfed his nostrils. He couldn't help but cough once or twice. As he made his way inside, he took in the interior of the blacksmith's. It was all very old, made of wood and stone, lined with a sense of age. A huge vat of water was on his left and a coal pit was opposite it. The walls and surfaces were lined with weapons. All metal. Katanas, maces, swords, truncheons, armour, axes, hammers, clubs and just about everything that could slice limbs off. A charcoal oven occupied the corner and was crackling as it burnt. And like a centrepiece in the middle of the room, was a massive anvil that could probably cause concussion if it was head butted or dropped on someone. A man entered the room. And the first thing that sprung to his mind was, huge. He had powerful arms, a long white beard and worn out overalls that may have lasted him years. In his hand was a hammer and an unfinished sword. He lumbered over to the anvil, and brought his massive hammer down on the piece of metal, making a loud clanging noise. After some hammering, he put the hammer down and took a strip of leather from his pocket, winding it around the deadly blade's handle, taking no notice of his customer.

"Perfect..." he boomed, dunking the blade in the water as it hissed with steam. He removed it once again and placed it on the side. He then turned toward Jordan. "So, what can I do for you?" he asked, gruffly.

"I need a weapon. Something sharp, durable and reusable" Jordan asked. The man smiled.

"You're an assassin ain't you?" Jordan looked startled and the large man chuckled. "I can tell from your eyes. Always a sort of a hidden beast in there. All assassins have it." He explained.

"Um...well...I'm not an entire assassin yet...I took over for some girl called Vespia"

"Ol' Ves eh? I figured as much. Silly girl" he chuckled, turning to face his array of weapons. "Ok, I'll give you this first one on a discount, but just this once ok?" he boomed, rooting through the hunks of metal. Jordan's jaw dropped.

"S...s...seriously?" Jordan asked. The man nodded.

"So, ya got a name?" he asked in his normal gruff tone.

"Uh...Jordan Argo" he replied still startled.

"Isaac Charr. Fitting name don'tcha think?" he said as he produced a slender sword from the wall behind him. It was slightly curved but the metal looked strong and durable. The handle was covered by a strip of red leather. The deadly blade looked very expensive. Isaac handed the sword over to Jordan who took it and tried holding it and swinging it a few times. "So, what do you think boy?"

"It's perfect, but will it cut off heads?" Isaac gave a roar of laughter.

"Naturally." He answered. "Now you might want to go and get some training before you take on any real assassins." Isaac advised. "Go see Dojo, he knows his way around swords."

"Dojo?"

"Yeah. He's an expert in hand to hand combat and with swords" Isaac advised, writing some directions down on a piece of scrap paper. Jordan thanked him for the sword and the reference, before he left the blacksmiths. Isaac gave a thoughtful smile as he exited. "Another raider of the ranks...looks like he has potential too...good pick Ves" he chuckled to himself, returning to his work.


	3. Prologue part III

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Prologue III: Mojo Dojo

Following the directions Isaac had given him, Jordan traipsed along the cold streets toward his destination. The streets seemed emptier today than they'd ever been...weird. A few minutes later he arrived at his destination...at least, that's what the directions said. What he was looking at was an abandoned and aged yellow bus, breaking through a wooden fence that surrounded it. Bits of paint were flecking off and...were those slash marks on the hood? They sure looked like it.

"Ok...not what I was expecting" Jordan thought aloud.

"If you start expecting stuff, you're always going to be disappointed" came a voice from above the bus. A man was sitting on top of the roof, legs hanging over the lip. He was dressed in a brown trench coat with a raggedy shirt underneath with a ying and yang symbol printed on it. He wore jeans and judging from the grey tinge in the fringe of his untamed hair, Jordan assumed he was in his late 30's. He also wore a knitted cap over his head and in his hand was silver wine bottle. He was, in every form of the word, a hobo. "So, watcha want kid?" he asked, as he leered down at the trespasser.

"I was told that you knew how to wield swords and stuff." Jordan yelled at him. The man's eyebrows raised.

"Oh, has Isaac been giving me away again?" he mumbled. "Alright, come on in." He said as he stood up and walked along the roof. Jordan cautiously went over to the broken bus doors and stepped into the bus. The interior wasn't doing much better than the exterior. It stank like death and some of the seats had slash marks. The long line of seats at the back had a blanket over them, implying a makeshift bed. Most of the windows had no glass in them. The tramp jumped into the bus through one of the glassless windows. "Names Dojo the Hobo kid." Jordan's jaw dropped.

"You're kidding"

"No I ain't." He swiftly replied. "I am the master of mojo and the best teacher you'll ever get" he scoffed. Jordan scowled at his overconfidence.

"Whatever...so what's mojo?" Jordan asked and Dojo smirked as if it was a stupid question.

"Well if you want to be taught, you'll find out" said Dojo, earning a nod from Jordan. "Good. Now follow me" he said, leaping out the back window again. Jordan hesitantly followed the bum into a large patch of grass behind the bus, with a wooden fence bordering it. Dojo was waiting at the far end, kneeling before a bundle of rags, wine bottle on the floor beside him which he then took in one hand and seemed to twist in front of him. "So tell me...why've you become an assassin?" he pondered. Jordan told him his tale of the bar and the red haired babe as Dojo unscrewed the bottom half of the wine container and screwed something different onto it instead from the bundle of rags. "So Vespia finally got out huh? Heh, good for her." He turned to face Jordan, his silver wine bottle now connected to a long thick blade that he held in his right hand. Jordan was startled at first, but quickly drew his own weapon in case of attack. Dojo smirked. "Good. At least you know when to prepare for attack." He said as he approached and raised his sword for a high slash. Jordan, forced to think on his feet raised his sword in a block. The lengths of metal clanged against one another, the thinner sword somehow able to withstand the power of the larger sword.

"Damn you're fast..." commented Jordan.

"You know how to block...now come at me" his opponent said as he backed away. Jordan hastily took a step forward and made a simple stab at his opponent. Dojo blocked and backed away again. Jordan came forward again and tried a horizontal slash, once again blocked. "Alright...you're almost there. Now just one last thing." He began as suddenly he raised his leg and kicked Jordan in the face.

"Urgh!" Jordan exclaimed as he fell back. Within moments, Dojo stood over him and was ready to strike the last blow. The heavy blade came down but Jordan rolled to one side, catching his legs into the bum's, tripping him over as he got back up. Dojo coughed once before he rose again...with a smile on his face.

"Good job...you know all ya need for a little while kid" Dojo complimented.

"Wait what? What do you mean?"

"I mean... there's nothing I can teach you right now that you don't already know. So long as you can block, attack and get up, you'll do fine in this business...for now" he explained solemnly. "Now, you get going. It's getting dark." Jordan was about to complain to the bum when suddenly his phone went off. With a look of confusion, he brought it out of his pocket and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Jordan Argo correct?" Jordan felt a chill run up his spine. The woman's voice sounded cold over the phone.

"Y-yeah?"

"I'm with the UKAA. Please come to our office immediately. I'll text you the details." She said plainly before hanging up. Jordan raised an eyebrow and gave a "what the hell?" look. Dojo smirked.

"Better get going. She doesn't like it when people are late." He advised, putting his wine bottle back together. Jordan decided to oblige and began following the texted directions, the sun behind him, slowly setting into the evening. Jordan pondered something as he walked along. How the hell did she get his cell number?


	4. Rank 30: Jack of hearts

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Rank 30: Jack of Hearts

As the sun set behind him and the moon rose before him, Jordan made his way along the cold streets toward the UKAA building. To his surprise, it was a tall skyscraper lined with windows. It was topped with a large spire and looked at the peak of modern building techniques. Jordan wandered inside, past the sliding automatic doors and into the main office. A man dressed in a business suit approached him.

"Jordan Argo?" he asked.

"Yeah that's me" confirmed Jordan. The man nodded and gave a signal for him to follow him as he turned to an elevator. As they entered the steel box, the man tapped a button marked "51" on the elevator wall. The door's shut slowly and they began to travel up. Up into the tall building. The lift came to a sudden stop and the doors opened to reveal an office. It was decorated rather lavishly, with red carpeted floors, wood panelled walls and an expensive looking desk where a black swivel chair had its back to the door. The man urged Jordan out of the elevator before he pressed another button and was gone. The chair swivelled round and Jordan caught sight of the woman who had called him there. She was wearing rimless glasses and had long shining brown hair that reached her shoulders. Her face was fairly pale and two hazel eyes sat above her nose. She was dressed in a sharp business suit and had a strange red pin on the collar. Her chest also made a massive impression on him and he caught himself staring at it, to which she tutted.

"So...Jordan Argo...I presume you know why you're here?" her voice sounded rather sweet but also tricky. Jordan shook her head and the woman gave a sigh. "Well...I'm here to inform you about your first target. I help run this organization." She explained.

"Wait...target? What's that mean?" Jordan demanded. The woman moved some hair out of her face.

"Well, you _are_ an assassin. It's now your job to hunt down those above you in the ranks and cut them short, so you can move up." Jordan gave a humph sound as he realised what Vespia had tricked him in to. "Anyway, your first target is waiting at "The pot of avarice" casino to the west of town."

"The... what?" Jordan asked. The woman sighed again.

"Look it's easy to find. It's got neon all over it so even you can find it" She remarked sourly. "Now you'd better hurry, he won't wait all night" she told him as she swivelled back around.

"Wait...I don't even know your name" complained Jordan.

"Its Melissa Diamond, now hurry it up" she spat at him, which sounded just as sweet as her normal speech. Jordan decided to do as she said and pressed the lift button. After a few seconds, the lift arrived. And just as the doors closed in front of him, Melissa called to him

"Don't die on me" to which Jordan snorted.

It barely took Jordan any time to find the Pot of avarice. Even in the dark night, the neon flashed brightly displaying a pot with a face tipping over and spilling poker chips everywhere. Jordan smirked at the idea and went in through the main entrance. To no surprise, the casino was a buzz of activity; waiters serving drinks, gamblers betting their money with women curled around their waists and arms, and from every part of the room came cries of triumph and sighs of loss. How Jordan was going to find his target in this throng was a mystery to him. He sifted through the crowds, keeping his sword hidden under his jacket. He earned a few odd looks from the gamblers and even a few flirty looks from the girls. Ignoring them, he continued his search, looking to see anyone of assassin description in the room. The person who caught his eye however, looked something of the opposite.

He was sitting near the wall on a wooden chair, in front of a circular table, collecting his winnings from a game of poker, while keeping the rest of his cards hidden in his spare hand. He wore a red suit with a heart shaped pin attaching a cloak to it. Along the front was an odd sword shaped object that reminded Jordan of something on a Jack's playing card. He had silky blond hair that hung over his shoulders, and wore a pillar box hat with a heart decal on the top. Two girls dressed in casino style bunny suits, purred contently on either side of him. He had a smirk on his face that seemed ever present. His opponents however, were less pleased as they walked away. The gambler spotted Jordan and his smile broadened. He beckoned him over and Jordan confusedly obliged.

"So..." he began as Jordan drew close "You must be the new 31 right?" Jordan's eyes widened. So this was his target?

"Yeah..." he answered cautiously. "Who knew I'd be killing royalty on my first run?" The man chuckled and got to his feet, winking to his girls who moved the table away. The other people in the casino also noticed what was happening and they made a space for the two. Jordan even heard some of them placing bets at a table nearby.

"Well... this league is full of surprises." He answered. "So...what's your reasoning for this job?" he inquired, twiddling a spare playing card in his fingers.

"I'm taking over for someone...Vespia Tarot" he replied. His opponent smiled as he recognised the name.

"Good killer she was...and a good card player too. But anyway, I suppose you want to know ol' Jack's reasoning too eh?" Jordan shrugged at this.

"If you want to" he said sharply, one hand in his jacket in case his opponent attacked. Jack smirked.

"It's because of the risk. This league, these assassinations. It's all a game we bet our lives on. The greatest gambling experience in the world." He explained solemnly, unclipping the object on the front of his suit and holding it in his hands.

"That's it? Just one big gamble? Sounds stupid to me"

"That's because you're not a true gambler. A true gambler can see value in every gamble he makes." Jack countered, clicking a button on the strange object as the flat end of it separated from the rest, and a handle was created. Above the handle, blades clicked out and created quite a hefty looking broadsword. "Now enough talking... it's time to go to work Cardshark" he announced, referring to his weapon. Jordan quickly drew his own weapon and readied himself for his opponents attack. For a few moments, the casino was quiet and still...

Jack made the first move, running at Jordan, blade ready to stab out at him. Jordan was ready for it and dodged to one side, taking a slash at his opponents arm. Jack brought Cardshark round to block and forced Jordan back with a strong push. Before Jordan could recover, Jack ran at him again, bringing his sword into a left swipe. Jordan barely blocked the attack and moved back. Jack smirked. "How pathetic..." he remarked, charging at him again, this time trying to stab down. Jordan grimaced at his opponent's words, ducking to the right of his attack and slashing at Jack. The blade caught a part of his red suit and bit into his flesh slightly. Jack grunted and staggered back, giving Jordan his chance to switch to the offence, slashing at him. Jack continued to move back as he blocked Jordan's swift attacks but spied an opening as he raised his weapon for a downward stab. Jack ducked and stabbed at his midsection, giving a cruel grin as the blade hit home. Jordan clutched his bleeding wound and toppled over backwards.

"D-d-damnit" he stuttered as his opponent leered down at him and the pain racked his body. Jack raised his blade to finish the job when Jordan rolled to the side, tripping Jack over, like he had Dojo, giving him time to recover. Jack frowned.

"Ok...so you're a little tougher than I expected...so what? You're still going to die here" he shouted before taking another stab at Jordan. Jordan was ready to block it, and was about to counter when suddenly a flurry of cards flew out of Jacks left sleeve and into his face. Startled by his opponent's sudden move, he stumbled back, giving Jack an opportunity to slash at his arm, creating a big red gash. Jordan yelped in pain and clutched his arm. Jack gave a cruel laugh as he looked at his opponent. "Like I said...it ends here for you" he announced as he readied Cardshark for the killing blow. Jordan just stood there, looking dazed. But as the blade came toward his chest, Jordan's blade leaped up to block it and deflected the larger sword away. Jack gave a startled expression as Jordan came back on the offensive, making fast and strong slashes at Jack. Finally, his blade dug into Jack's arm but he did not stop there. He slashed across his chest and along his face creating a nasty cut on his cheek. Jack cried in pain and ran backwards, desperate to get away. But Jordan had had enough of the red assassin's tricks, and charged after him. In one swift movement he knocked Cardshark from Jack's hands and slashed across his chest.

In that one moment, everything seemed to move slower. Jack's cry of pain was slurred and Jordan's sword swipe blurred. Then everything was at full speed and Jack was kneeling before him, panting heavily from the battle. Cardshark was too far away for him to reach, and as he looked up, Jordan could tell by his face, that he too knew this match was over. His lips cracked into a smile.

"Heh...good match kid...guess you caught me off guard..." he admitted wearily. Jordan almost felt sorry for him. "Well...you live by gambling...you die by gambling..." he said solemnly. Jordan raised his sword again and came up with a line to say.

"You may look like a prince...but you'll still die like a peasant!" he shouted as he brought the sword down on the man's neck, the strong steel slicing all the way through, cutting his head clean off. The head spurted blood as it rolled to a stop next to the collapsed body. The lavish red carpet turned a deeper shade of red as the blood of the fallen prince spewed out.

**Jack of hearts**

**DEAD**

Jordan cleaned his blade on his jacket and replaced it into its leather sheath, panting from the exhausting battle. Around him, most gamblers groaned at losing the bet while some cheered with glee. Jordan looked annoyed at how they had bet on all this...just like Jack had bet his life. His two bunny girls, after quickly switching sides came over to him and looked at him sweetly, clinging to his arms. Jordan blushed a little at the sudden attention. Just then, a familiar woman entered the room, flanked by two individuals in white biohazard suits.

"Congratulations Jordan. You are now ranked 30th." Melissa congratulated, as the two men passed by him and over to the body of the once assassin. " So, how was your first kill?"

"It...It was weird...I got such a rush...but...it felt bad when I finished him..." he admitted. Melissa gave an understanding look.

"Well you'd better be careful. There are still 29 assassins above you so if you want to climb the ranks, you'd better hurry." She advised. Jordan just gave her a "what the hell?" look. He had to do this again?

"Can I at least get some medical aid first?"

"But of course" Melissa replied as she turned to leave, the two bio suit wearers following her with Jack's body in a bag.

After staying at the Casino for a while, Jordan went back to his apartment, with the cell numbers of the two girls he had gotten to know. Truly a successful night.


	5. Rank 29: Winston Monoculus

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Rank 29: Winston Monoculus

Jordan's bed felt more comfy than ever that night. He patched himself up with some gauze and brushed his teeth before he got into bed and was asleep in seconds. The morning seemed to come faster than he expected. He sat up in his bed, wondering what to do. Before he could even answer that, he got a phone call. A familiar voice rang over the line.

"I heard it went well" Vespia said. Jordan frowned. "Oh, sorry for borrowing your cell phone the other day."

"Wait what?" Jordan exclaimed.

"How else did you think Melissa got your number? I used a hook" Jordan rolled his eyes.

"Alright, what do you want?"

"I just wanted to check how it was going." Jordan snorted to this.

"Yeah well, I'm not finding much motivation in taking people's lives here." He heard Vespia hmmm at the other end of the phone.

"Well tell you what. For being such a good boy, I'll go out with you from now on" she said in a singsong voice. Jordan's eyes widened and his face flushed red, his mind already filling with dirty thoughts. "And...If you reach the top well then... I'll be very...very appreciative" she said seductively, blowing a kiss over the phone. Jordan's sense of reason left him as he shouted over the phone.

"Hell yeah! Bring them on! I'll tear through every one of them!" His voice was enflamed in passion. Vespia giggled.

"I'm so glad. See you big boy" she teased and then hung up. Jordan, now encouraged to continue, got up and dressed himself in some trackie trousers, a plain white shirt and a black jacket. He ran a comb once or twice through his hair when his phone went off again. He picked it up and answered, with an idea of who was calling.

"Jordan? It's me." Came a familiar female voice, sounding cold over the phone again. "The next fight has been set up"

"Bring it on!" Jordan shouted down the phone.

"My, you sound fired up. I hope you can use that energy." Jordan wasn't sure if she was taunting him or encouraging him. "Head over to the Glitz restaurant by the beach. Good luck." She hung up just as fast as ever, never even giving a second for him to say no. He sighed and grabbed his sword, sheathing it behind his back before he exited his room and headed off.

As Jordan approached the beachside restaurant, a waiter was standing waiting at the door. Until he spoke, Jordan was convinced that he was the assassin.

"Mr Argo?" he inquired.

"Yeah that's me" he said in an almost boasting tone. The waiter nodded.

"He's waiting for you inside at table 12. You have a reserved seat." He informed and opened the door. The inside of the restaurant was quite lavish with white clothed tables, golden chandeliers hanging above and violin music playing setting quite a calming mood in the large room. He followed the table numbers over to the only occupied table, where a man dressed in a sharp suit was waiting for him. He wore a top hat and Jordan could just see the chain of a monocle on the side of his head. As Jordan drew closer, the figure turned his head with a pleasant smile, revealing his black moustache on the left and right of his nose and the golden monocle that sat on his left eye.

"Mr Argo. I'm so glad you could join me. Please, do take a seat." He offered. Jordan, looking perplexed took a seat opposite him, as the waiter from before came over with two plates of...flame grilled steak? "What's wrong Mr Argo? Vegetarian?" the man inquired.

"Uh... no. But shouldn't we be killing each other?" Jordan cut straight to the point and the man chuckled.

"My friend, I prefer to understand my opponents before I start shooting at them. I _am _A gentleman." He assured, tucking into his steak. Jordan, still confused, also began eating. The steak tasted amazing. "Amazing isn't it?" asked the gentleman, as if reading his mind. "The chef is a personal friend of the Monoculus family, so he was more than happy to whip some up for us" he explained. Jordan nodded in approval and wolfed the rest of the juicy meat down.

"Monoculus family?" Jordan asked, his mouth full. Winston tutted at his poor table manners.

"Why yes. The Monoculus' are very high class so I always got the best of everything being their eldest heir." He explained, wiping his face with a napkin. "But I grew weary of being treated as an upperclassman so I moved out for a more simple life." Jordan choked on his steak.

"What? Why the hell would you give up a life of luxury?" he demanded and the gentleman merely sighed.

"I wanted to know what it was like being plain old Winston, not Winston Monoculus the upperclassman. And while my new life was good... the people disgusted me. Uncouth and violent. So by joining these ranks, it allows me to rid the country of the very worst of this filth. Makes sense dosen't it? People no longer respect life, so why let them keep it?" he went on as Jordan frowned. He'd had enough of this long monologue. He rose from his seat and drew his weapon pointing it at Winston.

"Enough talk old man. I came here to fight, and while the steak was good, I'm hungry for some blood!" he shouted, not meaning half of what he said. Winston smiled.

"Very well. I suppose I have gone on for a little while." He admitted, putting a hand under the tablecloth and pulling out a sawn off shotgun. Jordan's heart skipped a beat. This was his second encounter with a gun. He had a flashback to the bar and Vespia's amazing speed with her own weapon. Was this man even faster? What if he was better than her? What if...

His thoughts were cut short as the gentleman pumped his shotgun. "You may want to back up a little." he advised before taking a shot. Jordan rolled out of the way allowing Winston time to leap backwards on top of the table and pump his weapon for another shot. Jordan got back to his feet only to see the shotgun's barrel pointed at him. Jordan ducked under a table as another shot echoed through the restaurant. Jordan emerged from the opposite side of the table and leaped up to join Winston, but he was ready and leapt back down to the left of the table, firing a warning shot at our hero. Jordan only just stepped back in time, and by that time Winston was already on the move, dodging around tables and readying for another shot. Jordan swore under his breath. At this rate there'd be holes in his head without even a real fight. He had to get close...but how? His train of thought crashed as Winston shot at him again, causing Jordan to duck under a table once more. That gave him an idea. He kept hidden under the table and began making his way toward Winston, ducking under table after table as he went. Winston, who was none the wiser, kept surveying the room for his opponent.

"I do hope you haven't run off. I assumed my opponent was not a coward." He teased, but Jordan had the last laugh as he was directly under Winston's table. He struck upwards, breaking the wood and nearly skewering the gentleman's left shoe. Winston quickly recovered and raised his gun to take a shot, but Jordan slashed at him, forcing him to raise the barrel in a block. Quickly twisting the shotgun in his grip, Winston smashed the handle of the gun toward Jordan. He blocked with his sword and clashed with Winston a few times before knocking the gentleman back; quickly realising he'd given him the opportunity he needed. Winston twisted his weapon again and fired, too fast for Jordan to block.

BANG!

The bullet skimmed Jordan's right shoulder, burning through his jacket, shirt and some of his skin. Jordan let out a pained scream and clutched his bleeding wound. It stung like nothing he'd felt before in his life. But the pain only served as a reminder. These assassins were all trained to kill and to them, he was another name on the list. Not anymore. As Winston reloaded, Jordan charged at him, forcing the gentleman to flip his weapon around to block. At far range, Winston held the advantage but in close quarters, Jordan took the upperhand and he didn't let up, slashing at the man in blind fury. A nick appeared in the sleeve of his suit. Then his neck and finally he slashed across his middle.

Time seemed to stand still once again as Winston's exclamation became slurred before everything was normal. Winston dropped his shotgun and backed away slightly.

"Hah...jolly good show old boy...you certainly gave me what for." He said standing straight up and smiling. Jordan was surprised at this. "You fought honourably Jordan. Now go forth, and cut the ranks down." He encouraged. Jordan nodded.

"I shall sir..." He dealt the final blow and sliced Winston's middle. The man was cut in two and his top half sailed into the air before coming to a crash on one of the table's, staining the pristine tablecloth with his blood. His face was still smiling as his eyes closed for the last time.

**Winston Monoculus**

**DEAD**

Jordan cleaned his sword on the tablecloth and left the bleeding corpse behind him. He clutched his shoulder again as pain spasmed through it. As he made for the door, two familiar men in white bio suits walked past him towards the scene of death. Melissa was standing by the door, hands on hips.

"Good job Jordan. You are now ranked 29th" she congratulated. "Still a long way to go though." She added.

Jordan gave a slow nod. "Say... can I take a few days off while my wounds heal?" he asked and Melissa mimicked his nod. Jordan gave a sigh of relief and walked past her outside, as she watched her two white clad soldiers pick up the pieces on the horror story scene. He called a taxi to take him home. That took 15 minutes. The taxi driver was on his lunch break, or that's what he said anyway.


	6. Rank 28: Dreadlocks

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Rank 28: Dreadlocks

Jordan spent a week doing fuck all. He had his injury tended by some cute nurse, slept in late and chatted with the girls he'd met at the casino. A good long blissful week. As Jordan got up and brushed his teeth he heard a motor outside. Probably from some fancy sports car or something. He wondered what it would be like to own a sports car and drive around as if he was rich. That would be fun. The car interrupted his thoughts again as the sound of its horn rang through his apartment building. He frowned and looked out the window to yell at whoever it was. It was then he noticed that the sports car was actually a limousine. And a certain girl was standing beside it.

"Oh so you are awake." She teased. "I thought you were ignoring me." Jordan groaned.

"Whaddya want?" he shouted at her. She tutted at him.

"You should have more respect. And for what it matters, the next fight has been set up." She announced kind of to his surprise. Jordan quickly grabbed his gear and hurtled to the door and was next to her in under a minute.

"Who am I killing?" he asked, cutting to the point. Melissa smirked.

"Now why would I tell you that? It ruins all the surprise of the fight." She teased and Jordan just scowled. "What I will tell you is to get in the car." Jordan raised an eyebrow to this.

"I'm getting chauffeured to my fight? Awesome!" he exclaimed but Melissa shook her head.

"The phone lines are down right now so I had to come tell you. But don't worry; the warehouse on Tight Top Street is only a short way from here."

"Short way? It's on the other fucking side of town!" he yelled much to Melissa's enjoyment.

"Well it'll give you some exercise. And it looks like you need it." She teased, poking his stomach with a stick she was now holding. Jordan went red and he had to admit, he did need to slim down a little. Melissa gave a quick little smirked and got back into her limousine. "Good luck Jordan" she said in an almost mocking tone, before the limo took off along the road. Jordan put his head in his hands and groaned. Bus services were off today and he didn't have any money for a taxi. Looks like he'd be walking…

About an hour or so later, Jordan finally arrived at Tight Top Street. He couldn't help but smirk at the name with his dirty mind. The street was nice enough, clean pavements, quiet roads and postcard worthy houses. The only bad thing about it was the giant warehouse at the end of the street that dominated most view. It was completely ugly compared to the rest of the street. It was withered with age, its corrugated iron walls lined with rust and grime. The windows were grubby and translucent, and the metal shutter were about half closed. And presumably, his next target was waiting inside for him.

"Well no point making him or her wait!" he said with a sudden spark of enthusiasm as he strode up toward the hulking factory, ducking under the half closed shutters and looking around the insides. The first thing he heard inside the supposedly empty space was a strange fast thumping sound, like a heart beating fast. The insides of the warehouse looked empty enough, with a few scattered crates and boxes. Jordan followed his ears around the warehouse shelves and eventually came upon the source of the noise. It was the sound of fists punching a punching bag, suspended by chains. There was a girl standing before it, punching like mad…a girl not much younger than Jordan. About 18-19. She was dressed in a black V-neck shirt with the sleeves and hem torn, a pair of denim shorts and black knee high boots with brash steel buckles. Her hair was black except for a purple highlight at the front, and it reached beyond her waist, oddly enough clipped together in steel spikes. She delivered another punch to the bag before she stopped and turned to Jordan.

"About time you got here, I got sick of pretending this bag was you" she snarled, not an ounce of kindness in her voice.

"Well excuse me for having to walk here bitch!" shouted Jordan, returning her hostility. The girl smiled, knowing she mentally had the upper hand. She strode toward Jordan and stood before him.

"So…you're the real deal huh? You think you can match Dreadlocks?"

"I'd better or I'd be wasting my time." He retorted. Dreadlocks smirked cruely.

"More like wasting my time. I do need something to kill."

"Just to kill? No reason why?" Jordan asked quizzically.

"Yeah. Who cares who I kill so long as it happens?" she snarled. Jordan thought for a moment. Compared to his last two targets, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Dreadlocks ran her hand through her hair. "Enough screwing around, get ready to die!" she exclaimed, charging at Jordan, fist ready. Jordan swiftly drew his sword and readied for her attack. Regardless of how strong her fists were, they wouldn't punch through solid steel. What he didn't expect was her real method of attack. She dug her foot into the ground, inches from Jordan and swung her hair over him. The steel spikes on the ends of her long braids of hair dragged across Jordan's skin and clothes, making long slash marks, causing our hero to cry in pain. Her attack method had caught him off guard and he had no idea how he was supposed to fight her. Dreadlocks flicked her hair out of her face and smirked evilly.

"Dammit… this is not good…" he muttered to himself, not seeing Dreadlocks raise her foot and kick him square in the face. Jordan felt the familiar taste of blood in his mouth as he staggered back, wiping his lips from the blood. But Dreadlocks didn't let up and punched at his ribcage. This time, Jordan managed to block her with his sword and force some distance between them. He brought his blade up vertically and got ready to attack her. Dreadlocks rushed at him again, slamming her foot down and swinging her hair toward her opponent. This time Jordan rolled under it and slashes along her bare thigh, making a deep wound. Dreadlocks raised her foot and tried to slam down on him, but he was too far away already. He got back up and smiled at the red gash on Dreadlocks' thigh, finally breaking her evil grin.

"You piece of shit!" she yelled rushing at him again, this time ready to use her left fist. Jordan raised his sword to intercept her fist, but her attack was a feint, as she followed with a right straight to the face. Jordan staggered back; clutching his face, but Dreadlocks wasn't one to give up as she delivered a swift kick to the stomach. Jordan fell back with a thud, landing on his back. Dreadlocks stood over him and raised her foot above him, ready to stomp on his face. But Jordan was ready as her boot came slamming down, he raised his sword blade in front of his face, watching as it cut into the leather of her boot and into her skin. Dreadlocks' eyes widened and she gave a pained yelp as she leapt back to get the blade off her foot. Jordan was on his feet in seconds and rushed at her, ready to run her through. But Dreadlocks was ready and swung her hair to keep him back, lightly grazing his arm. He drew in a sharp breath and allowed Dreadlocks some space. Her smirk returned as she rushed forward again, succeeding in a kick to the ribs. Jordan however slashed at her shirt at the same time as a kick so as he flew back, Dreadlocks' top fell in two. A clear blush could be seen on her face, as naught but her bra was left on the top half of her body. Jordan couldn't help but stare.

"You fucking pervert!" she screamed at Jordan. He was tempted to apologize and let her put on another shirt, but the situation didn't call for honour. Dreadlocks rushed at him, and a flurry of punches soon followed. Jordan just ducked and weaved as much as he could, knowing he couldn't block them all. Dreadlocks punched faster and faster, her hands a blur. But Jordan took his time and finally found an opening in her wall of fists. With a single decisive slash, he cut her bare stomach as once more, time seemed to slow as Dreadlocks screamed and collapsed. He looked down at the girl, clutching her bleeding wound and breathing heavily. He had no sympathy for her…so why hadn't he finished the job yet? What was so hard about killing some girl he didn't even know? He realised it in a few moments… he couldn't imagine himself hurting another girl. Maybe it was because he felt some special feeling for her or something…his train of thought crashed as he felt the dying girls hand on his arm. He looked down…and saw a small smile on her pain wracked face.

"Thank you… now… please….finish me…" she spluttered. Jordan was surprised at this and just looked down at her for a while. "I've…been waiting for death…for a long time…its my last option…" she went on. Jordan gave a wry smile, and with her help, brought his blade down into her chest. She coughed for a few moments and was still once more. He felt slightly sorry for the girl…but happy too. Clearly he'd ended her suffering forever. Wasn't that something to be proud of?

**Dreadlocks**

**DEAD**

Right on cue, Melissa showed up with her white knights, congratulating Jordan in the most sarcastic way she could come up with while her underlings did the work. Jordan didn't even hear her comments, and just began the long trek home. He cleaned his sword on the grass outside and sheathed it so he wouldn't freak out civilians. Wait…since when had other people been civilians to him?


	7. Rank 28 aftermath

No more heroes: Similarity and Causality

Rank 28 aftermath

The trek home was long and tedious. The pavement looked the same as ever. People looked gray faced and emotionless as he passed them, and they glanced at his tattered garments and punctured skin, but not long enough to seem like staring. Possibly out of fear. After the honest to god depressing fight with Dreadlocks, Jordan could do with a clever joke or just a smiley face. All he got was Melissa, standing in front of his apartment. The limousine parked beside her indicated she'd been there for a while. So her henchmen had done away with the bodies already? Boy they sure worked fast… She tapped her foot as if he were late and almost scowled at him.

"You got a little sloppy in your last fight Jordan. Is something the matter?" she teased.

"Fuck you bitch." Spat Jordan, in no mood for her little games as he sauntered toward the door. Melissa looked at him puzzled.

"Well, don't you want to know about your next ranking f-"

"Screw your games, I need the day off." He cut in sharply, slamming the door behind him as he trekked up the stairs to his room and flopped on the bed. He thought back to the fight with Dreadlocks. He could imagine those two men in white now; taking away her body in one of those bags…what do they do to the dead bodies afterward? Do they bury them? Send them to relatives? Cremate them? His brain flashed as the painful image of Dreadlocks burning to ash in the flames. Burning….burning…to ash….and cinders…GAH! Why was he thinking about this? He didn't even know the girl…why did he feel sorry for her? He got off his bed and went to have a shower, ignoring the stinging wounds and the reddening water gathering in the plughole. He dried off, didn't bother dressing and just got into bed and slipped into his dreams. The image of Dreadlocks haunted him in a dark and bloody nightmare…her face looking so sombre as the soulless sword piercing her pale flesh…sinking into her body, snuffing out her light faster than strong wind to a candle…his morale was falling…his willpower was breaking. What was he to do…?

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

His alarm shrieked at him, his saviour from the dark nightmare. Jordan simply tapped it this morning, as if to reward it for its job rather than punish it as he normally would. He got up drowsily and rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the bad memory of yesterday's assassination. It didn't work. However, the voice at the door helped to soften its impact.

"Jordan? You awake in there?" chimed Vespia's honey sweet voice. Jordan panicked and quickly grabbed his clothes amongst the crap on the floor, slipping them on whilst constantly shouting

"I'll be out in a minute!" He could hear a little giggle from behind the rectangle of wood, and he was growing used to that from the attractive girl who awaited him. In about half a minute, he was dressed-ish and opened the door. The smoking hot red head smiled at him and Jordan quickly scanned her. She was wearing jeans that reached just above her shoes, which were white and cream coloured. Her shirt was very eye catching. It was a red V-neck showing off a fair amount of her chest meat, white sleeves emblazoned with flame decals. She was also wearing some sort of necklace around her neck, which looked hourglass shaped with some weird blue liquid inside. Odd contrast to her clothes. Could be used as a metaphor…

"Like what you see?" she joked, spotting how long he was looking at her. Jordan coughed and looked the other way, only rising another smile from her.

"Yeah… so what've you come round for?"

"Can't I come see my own boyfriend?" she asked with a singsong voice, and Jordan could feel his face flush red. "Also, I wanted to see if you'd fancy a date some time." She said and Jordan's eyes lit up like AA powered torches.

"S-sure!" he blurted out. Vespia giggled.

"Wow. It's like you've never been on one before. So how does Thursday at the Mega Decker shopping centre sound?" Jordan just nodded three times, his lips seemed to be glued together. She smiled at his approval.

"Ok then. Also, I think Melissa left you a gift." She said, handing him a brown envelope. There was a big red 27 stamped on it. Curiosity bested him as he opened it up. It was a hand written letter giving him directions to his next to his next ranking fight. Extremely detailed directions. Good thing too, he'd never heard of this "St Thetis royal church" before. His thoughts about his fight crashed as he suddenly felt Vespia's lips on his cheek, giving him a short, sweet, soft kiss. He was certain he must've looked as Red as Ves' hair. Perhaps redder. But it gave him a surge of adrenaline. Just what he needed to erase or at least ease the pain of the previous assassination. "Good luck with your fight big boy." Jordan grinned, grabbed his sword and charged down the stairs screaming

"HELL YEAAAAAH!" Vespia smiled as Jordan ran off, clomping down the stairs and out the door. She then turned to his room, which he had neglected to close or lock. All hers until her boyfriend returned…


	8. Rank 27: Raphael and Angel

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Rank 27: Raphael and Angel

Jordan followed Melissa's in depth detailed directions, feeling rather stupid, as if she was talking down to him somehow, acting as if he didn't know the town he lived in. Of course he barely left his apartment so that was true. After a not so long walk, he spotted the church. It was an old building that was just begging to be demolished. Its stained glass windows were covered in grime, its brick walls looked broken and cracked, and the front door had a graffiti cross sprayed over it. Jordan wondered if it were an omen….but he decided against it and took hold of the dirty brass handle, slowly opening the door as it gave a mournful groan. Compared to the outside, the inside was much better. The wooden benches looked new aside from the small nick in the wood. The carpeted floor was a little dirty, but still looked decent enough. The grimy windows let close to no light in, but the light was provided by candles on either sides of the church, and at the end of the hall. The statues surrounding the hall glared and stared ominously. Oddly enough, most of them were clutching various weapons. Some wielded spears, some swords and big metal shields. They were untouched by age and looked more valuable than the whole church did. His eyes scanned down the aisle, before fixing on the front stand. There was a rectangular table with a white cloth spread over it, a crucifix symbol stitched into the front. There was a chalice of red liquid standing on the cloth, and a silver dusty plate. But what really caught his attention was the figure standing behind it.

He was dressed in white flowing robes, looking so pristine in the imperfect monastery. He also wore a pointed hat that would've suited the pope. In fact, this person could probably fill in for the pope if he wanted to. But as he turned around, his mind changed that idea. His face looked a little battered; he had a small bruise over his left eye and a layer of stubble around his chin. His eyes looked brown and sleepy, like he'd had no sleep. Glinting in the slight light, the strange golden sceptre in his hand caught Jordan's attention. It looked like pure gold, and had a crucifix attached to the top end…and that thing looked sharp!

"And so… another black sheep wanders into the fields, waiting for his master the shepherd." Said the man, stepping forward, in front of the table. "Have you come seeking salvation?"

"You've gotta be kidding… you can't be for real… are you number 27?"

"That is one title I have been dubbed when I took on this position." He continued, looking up toward the heavens. "But… I am more than just a number my son."

"Good god…" smiled Jordan, almost ready to burst into laughter. He was fighting a priest? For fucks sake, you couldn't make that up…

"Do not use his name in vain sinner." Snapped the robed man. "You are not worthy to even speak of him."

"What, and you are?" The man smiled almost kindly.

"Yes…I am one of his angels, Raphael, reborn into this new form." He continued. Jordan face palmed. Was this nutter for real?

"So one of the great angels are killing now?" he retorted.

"I do not kill them… I save them. I rescue these sinners from their black hearted lives, and send them up to the heavens, for a chance at redemption." He waffled on.

"Eh whatever" snorted Jordan, drawing his sword. "This'll be the easiest kill yet." He scoffed, as he charged up the aisle. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a stone spear blocked his path. Through some unfeasible feat, a statue of a robed, staring angel had leaped up and was now blocking his path. The angelic face leered down at him as Raphael watched from the altar.

"Do you see now? The almighty has granted me a counterpart. An angel to aid me in my quest of salvation." He went on. Jordan snarled. What had been his easiest kill had just got jacked up a few levels…

His thoughts were broken as the statue jabbed its spear at him, forcing him to sidestep it. The angel statue's spear jabs were blurred as it struck out at him more times than he dared to count. He knew his sword was sharp, but he had no chance against stone. Flesh and stone were very different materials with altered densities.

"Just give in now sinner. Let the holy guardian take you to your rest" spoke Raphael, watching from his podium as his counterpart did all the work. Jordan glared at him, the coward. Too scared to fight him on his own. But he couldn't concern himself with the priest now, he had to get around this statue if he wanted to keep his life. But how? As he stepped around the flurry of stabs from the deadly foe, he scanned the church for something he could use to pacify this statue. He looked over the vast array of statues…. Their weapons would be as useless as his sword against stone. Except…maybe one. He uses his sword to block the angels attack and forced it back, rushing over to a nearby statue. He desperately grabbed at the silver shield it clutched in its left hand, managing to lift it free. He turned just in time as the statue was on him once more. He raised the shield and put all his strength behind it to block the sinister strike. And then with a hefty shove, he pushed the statue back, battering it with the strong piece of metal, pushing it toward a wall. The statue had no clue what was going on, and as its back hit the wall, it was too late. Jordan rammed against it again and again, grinning as he heard the stone crack against the brick wall. Slowly but surely, the statue broke in two, and fell flat onto the floor. Our hero gave a sigh of relief and dumped the battered shield on the statue's body, turning back to the clearly bewildered Raphael.

"Now for you priesty." Jordan snorted, making his way up the aisle with strides. Raphael's saintly sickly smile slowly emerged again.

"You believe you can kill an angel you fool? You are as meritable as the beggar on the tarmac." He prophesised, as he readied his staff for battle. Jordan charged up, sword in hand and took a stab at the priest. He spun the golden sceptre into a blocking manoeuvre before swinging it forward, similar to the spear of his stone warrior. Jordan deflected this strike and gave a quick strike along the saint's arm. He heard the fabric tear and a tear of red burst through. Raphael cried in pain but was undeterred as he swung his sceptre around like a sacred hammer. The strike was too fast for Jordan to anticipate and the crucifix end smashed him in the cheek. His head turned and he fell backward, the pain rippling over his face and he was certain his jaw had clicked. His body hit the floor with a thump as the holy man raised his staff to slam it down on his chest. Jordan was beginning to wish he'd kept that shield…

As the golden crucifix rushed down, Jordan rolled to the left away from Raphael, causing him to fall down the steps off the altar. Three thumps later, he had the chance to rise to his feet, just as the priest reached the head of the stairs. Jordan quickly struck up, trying to skewer the saint but Raphael spun his sceptre like a flywheel, blocking all hopes of attack. At least, that was what the priest though. Because Jordan had spotted a way to distract him. With one swift movement, he launched his sword past the priest and amazingly it struck one of the ornate candlesticks, causing it to tip over. Due to its extreme length, it caught on the end of the saint's robes, catching them alight. The sudden fire on his garments made him forget his unarmed opponent and swatted at the flames with his hands. Jordan took the opportunity, snatching the holy man's golden staff, smashing him once in the face, and a second time in the chest, hoping to break a rib or two. Raphael fell back slowly, as time once more slowed to a snail's pace. Then all was normal, and the holy man lay on the floor, coughing as he clutched his chest. Jordan crossed the altar, reclaiming his lost sword before looking back to his opponent, his white holy robes stained with sin red blood. Jordan loomed over him, looking down with scorn.

"How…how can this be… I have…the power of God…on my side" came the crumbling voice of the priest. "How can I…be bested….by a black hearted sinner?" he pleaded. Jordan gave him a disbelieving look.

"You know, killing is supposed to be a sin. Do you think God would want you to go around being a sinner? Is that his supposed work?" he almost taunted. The theory daunted on the dying saint's face and his lips formed a startled o.

"…yeah…" the priest accepted simply. Then he spoke no more as Jordan rammed the blade into the priests body, drawing a line down his chest with his bladed quill. Then, in what he felt was a fitting idea, he drew another slice higher up, horizontally. He'd made a cross on the dead priest's chest. It was slightly ironic, but it also felt like he was paying homage to him. He had no idea why he'd do that…

**Raphael**

**DEAD**

Jordan cleaned his blade on the grubby carpet, then turned to leave when he suddenly he found another statue in his path. He recognised this one, it was the one he'd taken the shield from. Was this one possessed too? The supposed angel… no it had to be a hoax. But what the statue did next, mystified him. It raised her weapon less hand and gave him a light pat on the shoulder. It felt heavy…yet somehow light. The statue's face twisted into a smile and Jordan was certain he could see something glowing above the statue's head. Then in seconds, the statue disintegrated before his eyes, leaving only a lighted silhouette that floated upwards, and was gone through the roof. Jordan blinked.

"What…the…fudge cake?"


	9. Rank 26: Foreman Bullworth

No more heroes: Similarity and Causality

Rank 26: Foreman Bullworth

The strange battle replayed in Jordan's head all the way home. The priests words, the dilapidated chapel, and of course the supposedly living statue. What was that all about? Was it a real angel? Did Raphael manage to make a robot or something? He couldn't make sense of it no matter which angle he stared at it from. It was like a rubix cube… made from an angel statue. He put his thoughts to rest and arrived home. It was midday when he left and now the sun was setting in the distance. The time had flown when he had fought the priest, but he didn't think it took that long. Mystifying really. He arrived back at the motel, and realised that for once, Melissa was not waiting for him. That was odd. Maybe the next ranking fight would take place tomorrow. Ah well, all the better for him. He rushed upstairs when suddenly a thought clicked in his head. He hadn't locked the door on his way out… his whole room had been left open for the whole day.

"Oh shit…" he murmured on the stairs, but kept on anyway to check the damage. He entered his room, expecting everything to have been looted. Instead… it had been completely cleaned. Someone had spent a long time cleaning up. All his crap was gone, his clothes were hung up and he could see the carpet for a change. And there was the cleaner, resting on his bed with a glass of some weird liquid in her fingers.

"I'd be surprised too if a pigsty became a decent room all of a sudden Jordan. " charmed the singsong voice of Vespia as she sipped her serum. Jordan rubbed his eyes a few times and pinched his hip to check this wasn't a dream. He was still awake.

"Uh…why did you…"

"Got bored rummaging through your things. Nice tapes by the way" she commented and smiled. Jordan flushed red and coughed. "So, good to see you survived another fight."

"Yeah…but Melissa didn't show up like she normally would." He pondered out loud.

"Mhm. That can only mean there's a big match coming up. Melissa must be busy setting up for it." Vespia answered.

"Big match?"

"Yeah. Someone important must be moving through the ranks." Jordan wondered….could that be him? He had taken down four assassins within, what, three days? "Anyway, I was wondering if the two of us could spend a little 'quality time' together" she cooed, and rolled over a bit to allow Jordan to lie beside her. His eyes lit up like fireworks, and he was about to go over when suddenly his phone went off. He quickly went over to it and answered it, within moments wishing he hadn't.

"Jordan. You next ranking fight is arranged. And it's a big one." Came the steel voice of Melissa. "Oh, and good job with rank 27." She praised insincerely. Jordan frowned. He'd just come from a fight already, now he had to go do another one?

"Fuck your rankings, it's nearly midnight you know!" he shouted down the phone, making Vespia raise her eyebrows. She had worked out what he was talking about, but it still shocked her to see Jordan so hostile.

"Pull yourself together. You are an assassin. Your job is not flexible, and it is your duty to fulfil it. So get your sorry ass over to the building site on to the north of town. And be quick about it." She snapped harshly before hanging up just as swiftly as ever. Jordan snarled and slammed the phone on the table. His anger was surging through his veins as fast as blood vessels. But when he felt a peck on his cheek, it acted as a vent, releasing some of his anger. He turned to Vespia and smiled wryly.

"Well…looks like I have work to do."

"You go do it Jordan. Good luck." She cooed. Once more, Jordan retrieved his blade and set out to find his next opponent/victim.

The construction site was not too far away, and for some reason, the giant metal skeleton of what should soon be a building was bathed in light. Presumably from search lights set on the floor. He wandered into an opening in the wooden fence, surrounding the metal structure. He glanced around. The whole site was deserted. But he could feel a presence… the presence of the killer he had come to face. He paced cautiously forward, searching for his opponent. There wasn't much that was worth noticing in this dusty construction site. The tall steel skeletal scaffold looked ominous in the electric light. There were some cranes nearby too, about three of them. They all looked extremely heavy and powerful, like metal ogre's carrying maces twice their size. There was a portable set of toilets next to the leftmost crane, and even a break house. One thing that struck him as odd was the number of pieces of equipment that lay strewn in random areas. Power drills, hammers, screwdrivers and wrenches. Didn't the construction workers have toolboxes? There was one other thing about the construction site that seemed odd… were those TV cameras? Here? He then noticed a massive black square behind him. It was a giant television screen. What on earth could that be here for?

VROOOOOOOM!

The loud noise of a monstrous engine disrupted his train of thought as he instinctively turned to see where it was coming from. But the construction site covered a lot of land, and the noise was echoing around him.

VROOOOOOOM!

A second revving… and the engine it came from sounded powerful. Whatever was coming to get him was big. Very big.

VROOOOOOOOM! SCREEEEEECH!

The revving accompanied by the sudden screech of tires alerted him to what was coming. He turned in time to notice a large mechanical beast was bearing down on him. It looked like a forklift truck, but there was something off about it. Its speed for a start! Jordan only just rolled out of the way in time to avoid being impaled on its loading spikes that looked way too sharp. The forklift skidded and did a 180, turning to face its prey. The engine revved again and Jordan finally got a good look at it. The metal armour of the forklift was painted jet black, emblazoned with flame decals and skull designs. The loading spikes looked as sharp as bull horns and even had a few bloodstains on them. The engine's revving told him this was not meant for this kind of machine. This forklift truck had been custom built. And suddenly its driver poked his head out of the side window.

"Looks like you're fast enough mate! But not as fast as me!" he taunted. The man was wearing a yellow hat and was dressed in a chequered t-shirt and denim overalls. His solid face was caked in dust, and his iron grey hair hung loosely around his ears. The man's eyes looked mad and gold, staring at Jordan as if he were meat on a stick. Jordan then noticed the screen behind the forklift had flickered into life, showing profile pictures of him and his opponent with the names "Jordan Argo" and "Foreman Bullworth" underneath their respective pictures, and a giant "VS" separating them. It reminded him of video games… then again, the whole association probably saw this bullshit as a game. But he digressed and turned back to the problem at hand.

"You have to be pretty weak to rely on a machine to do your fighting!" he retorted.

"Hah! Who cares what weapon assassins use" he revved his motor again, making a monstrous echo around the empty site. "So long as we get the job done." He scoffed.

"Yeah I can see you can do that with this construction site here!" he yelled at him over the engines obnoxious vrooming.

"Shut the hell up you pathetic cow tipper! I lost funding is all! If it were up to me, this place'd be up to scruff and spick 'n span!" he boomed, losing his temper. Jordan smirked, winning the psychological advantage.

"So is that why you kill? For money to bring your projects back to life?"

"What the hell does it matter to you anyway?" he roared.

"Oh nothing. Just curious is all. Seems a bit shallow if you ask m-" the engine revved again to cut him off.

"Shut your fucking face! Because I'm about to pierce a fucking hole in it!" hollered the loud mouthed foreman. The engine revved, and Jordan prepared for the machine to lurch at him.

The foreman slammed down on the accelerator and his mechanical steed rushed at Jordan. Jordan threw himself from its path at the last second so the foreman couldn't turn on him when he jumped. He heard the tires screech again as he could tell the forklift was turning for another attack. He was on his feet just in time to see the forklift storming toward him once more. He waited for his chance and threw himself out of the way at the right moment, the robotic bull flying past. This wasn't going to work. This game of chicken would only last until Jordan made one tiny mistake and would be impaled on those nightmarish horns. Jordan scanned the area for a way to tip the odds in his favour. The tall steel skeleton behind him gave him an idea. He hurried over to the scaffold, but was aware that the metal bull was bearing down on him. But that was what Jordan wanted him to do. Clearly the foreman wasn't thinking through his rage. Once again, Jordan leaped out of the way, and the foreman realised he was heading for the steel scaffold. He slammed on the breaks but it only slightly decreased the strength of the impact as he crashed into the metal. Jordan was certain that would be the end of it, but he heard the foreman swear multiple times.

"Ah damnit…" he muttered, but he decided to use his time to his advantage, rushing over to the forklift. He took three brutal swings at the back, making dents and a slight rip in the metal hide. Suddenly he heard the engine rev, and Jordan wisely backed away as fast as he could, as the mechanical bull reversed and spun to face him, the foreman's face red with volcanic rage. The engine revved as the forklift raced after Jordan who turned and ran for it, looking for something else to attack the foreman with. He side dodged just in time once more, but this time the foreman took much less time turning around. He was catching on, and fast. Jordan ducked behind the break house. That should give him some time, unless the forklift could smash through buildings without its driver dying. His head buzzed as his brain formed a plan. If he could force Bullworth out of the forklift, he'd be an easy picking. But how? The forklift moved too fast for him to pull him straight out and there was no way he could climb aboard without getting thrown off from the velocity. Maybe he could…

The sudden appearance of the forklift disrupted whatever plan he had. He thought he'd have more time that that… He only just managed to throw himself from the mechanical bull's path. Any later and he would've been gored. The foreman was forced to spin right due to the walls and knocked over a bench nearby, spilling some tools to the floor. A hammer, a wrench and even a cement saw… a cement saw? That gave Jordan an idea. As the foreman chased him down again, he dived dangerously diagonally to reach the cement saw. He was lucky that he threw himself earlier than normal. He rolled to his feet and seized the cement saw, staring at Bullworth as he turned to stare him down. The horns gleamed, their eyes met, and both prepared to make their move. Everything was still between the combatants. First to draw wins, Jordan thought to himself.

The following events seemed incredibly fast. The mechanical bull rocketed forward toward our hero. At the last moment, he shifted left, but didn't dive. As the vehicle raced past, Jordan started up the cement saw and dug the spinning circular blade into the side of the vehicle. The blade cut into the metal like a hot knife to butter, making a long tear down the side. He could hear the metal shred and the electronics buzz. He turned to watch his work. The forklift attempted to swerve back around to face him, but the brakes had been severed. The machine didn't slow as it turned and it skidded, causing the whole vehicle to crash down onto its side with a loud slam. Jordan smirked. This match was all but over. But there was one last thing to do. Jordan made a break for the fallen beast, the foreman desperately scrabbling to get out of the driving cab. Half of him was out when Jordan jumped up beside him, cement saw still buzzing in his left hand. He was sick of this man, forcing him into a slow game of chicken. He raised the buzzing blade and prepared to slam it onto the man's head. But Bullworth was faster and punched him in the stomach, causing him to topple off the forklift. He was back up in moments, in time to catch Bullworth lifting his other leg out of the carriage. Jordan reacted swiftly, lobbing the cement saw at his leg. He watched in horrifying fascination as the blade cut straight through the foremans leg, severing it from his body completely.

The foreman screamed in pain and anguish as he fell back into the driving carriage, the cement saw following suit. The screams continued as a fountain of blood spurted up from the carriage as the cement saw cut the foreman into shreds and ribbons. Jordan didn't see what became of the foreman, but from the amount of blood and the amount of screaming, he didn't want to know. Just the sight of all that blood made him nauseous.

Foreman Bullworth

DEAD

Jordan walked away from the carriage and caught a glimpse of the television screen. The image of Bullworth had shattered and only his image remained, full screen now and with the words "WINNER" in gold underneath the image. Jordan snorted at the screen and made for the opening in the fence, but was confronted by the usual trio of individuals. The two white clad men walked past him toward the fallen forklift. Jordan wondered what it was like to do their job. Morbid for sure. And messy. Wonder if it paid well...

"Congratulations on your kill Jordan. You are now ranked 26th" came the standard flat compliment from Melissa. Jordan didn't even react and just kept walking past her. But something rung in his mind and he looked back at Melissa.

"How come this fight was televised?"

"Bullworth was a very competent competitor. He was quite famous around the ranks. Guaranteed to bring in ratings." Jordan face palmed. That figured as much as everything else.


	10. Rank 25&24: Legion

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 25/24: Legion

Jordan groaned as he arrived home. Vespia was long since gone and he was worn out from his long battle with the bullish foreman. He took a quick shower then flopped onto his bed and fell asleep. His dreams were much better than the previous night's. He was thinking about the televised battle. Would it make him famous? Could he become the rising star of the UKAA? He hoped so… ever since his high school days, he'd dreamed of fame. Not that he was ever going to get it when he got a C in Maths and a D in physics. Now his dreams wandered onto his earlier years… he'd had a nice little life there. How had he lost it all? Then his mind turned again… to that court case. He'd been accused of smuggling drugs into his college… and was booted out with a £500 fine. His parents abandoned him… that was when he moved. The memorable dream showed him his journey to his new home and taking his new job and getting his apartment… boy those were some shit times.

His alarm rescued him from his sombre dreams for the second night in a row as he sat up in his warm bed. His head tiled to the left for a moment before snapping back into place. He got up and found something from a previous night to eat for breakfast. He was wondering whether he should go buy some real food when suddenly a brown envelope slid underneath his apartment door. It was addressed to him in big bold letters. Jordan plucked it from the dirty carpet and opened it up. And out flowed at least 10 £100 notes. Jordan's eyes widened. That was more money than he'd ever seen in his life. There was a note alongside them and another envelope but Jordan ignored them as he picked up the cash. He examined it in his hands, turning the bills over and over again and again. Then he finally took a look at the note. It was from Melissa, and written neatly.

"These are your winnings from last nights fight. This should be a good start to the £3000 you owe us from the expenses of your current ranking fights."

Jordan's heart sank. He should've known there would be a catch to this. How was he going to earn £3000? And how come he was being charged to kill people? This was bullshit! Out of annoyance, he ripped open the other envelope. There was another letter in it. Again from Melissa.

"Your next ranking fight has been arranged, and it's slightly different from the others. Head over to the museum of human history to the north east. Also there's no fee for this battle. Good luck, From Melissa."

Jordan ripped up the letter and snatched his blade from the floor. All this rage would help him in this fight. Whoever was waiting at the museum was going to regret the day they were born.

The museum of human history stood out like a sore thumb. It was an ugly building with thick garish concrete that looked ready to fall down. There were some tattered banners advertising various exhibits, dotted around the from of the building. Its doors were aged and oak, reminding him a little of the chapels doors from his fight with the priest. He pushed on the doors and entered the empty foyer. There was only an information desk and some doors in view. That was weird. This place clearly didn't care about first impressions. Jordan shrugged and began to wander around the hollow halls, searching for his target. The exhibits were very unappealing and looked long out of date by today's standards. Why did this place still exist? Did society just forget about it?

These thoughts kept ringing in his head as he scoured the vast museum. He didn't like this. He was a moving target. If his opponents had long range weapons, they could be following him right now, taking aim at his head. He tried to ignore that idea as he came upon a roman exhibit that was… stained in blood?

The whole hall had splatters of blood painting its walls, floors and even some of the artefacts. The gruesome roman artefacts looked deadly in every way. There were sharp short swords, strong stalwart shields and amazingly crafted armour. There were also chariots, toga's and a model of Julius Ceaser, looking smug and in control. Quite fitting that he was surrounded by a pool of blood really… Jordan's mind snapped to attention as he remembered that his opponents were most likely waiting for him in this room. He trod forward gingerly, trying to avoid stepping in the pools of blood to little avail. Whoever these killers were, they were very efficient at getting rid of the bodies afterward.

"For the glory of the empire!" came a pair of voices from behind Jordan, as he turned to see two Romans running at him. Well, men dressed as Romans anyway. They played the part well, wearing full roman battle dress, billowing red cloaks flowing behind them as they ran, wielding the classic sharp short swords of the time and also clutching rectangular shields. Jordan had little to no time to draw his sword and block the incoming blows but he somehow managed it, putting some space between him and his attackers.

"What the hell are you two?" he inquired. The two Romans clashed swords as a sign of brotherhood.

"We are the Legion! Carrying on the legacy of ancient Rome!" sad the first.

"We fight to defend our region from intruders such as you!" the other one continued.

"Intruder? Hello? I was sent here to fight you two cosplayers!" he yelled, already pissed off at this duo.

"All are intruders to our roman empire! They shall never strike us down!" retorted the first.

"Enough talk. Time to execute this peasant." Said the second as their swords clashed again.

"For the glory of the empire!" they announced a second time as Jordan groaned and redied himself for the attack.

The roman duo charged forward, shields ready to block any initial attack. Jordan remembered a few things about roman war strategies and knew how to stop this one. He waited until they were up close and just as they lowered their shields to attack, Jordan slashed swiftly. His sword bounced off against the tough armour, but it made both Romans flinch as they stumbled back. Jordan used this as an opportunity and began hacking at one with quick, rapid slices. The roman raised his shield to defend himself and slowly moved back. Suddenly, he pushed forward, ramming the rectangular piece of curved metal into Jordan, sending him reeling. Jordan realised the Romans plan just in time as he quickly moved to one side, not escaping the blow of the second roman that was waiting behind him, but reducing its impact on his back. He cringed as the blade cut open his shirt and the fresh wound bled. He shuffled to the left so neither roman could surprise him again. The Romans regrouped and charged again, shields ready to intercept. Hadn't they learned from that last attack? Jordan had a new plan this time, and as the shields moved aside, he swung his sword low, cutting the soldiers legs. They both grunted and one went to his knees. Jordan raised his sword to cut his head clean off but was intercepted by the other one, as the shield forced him away.

"He's mightier than we expected…" whispered the first roman to his compatriot.

"Yes… but we will defeat him. He's is one man and we are two" he whispered back, getting to his feet once more. The Romans locked shields and ran at their opponent. He prepared for them to lift their shields…but they did not. Instead they slammed their metal shields against him, forcing him to stumble back. Jordan grunted as he was easily overpowered by the two men and he fell onto his back. The first slammed his shield down on him, pinning him to the floor, drawing his short sword for a quick kill by slicing our hero's throat. Jordan struggled underneath the shield but to no avail. His sword arm was trapped and it looked like he was doomed…

That was when Jordan had an idea on how to stop these roaming Romans. Carefully, he positioned his sword arm just under the roman's leg and stabbed up as his opponent was about to strike. The roman cried in pain as Jordan found the strength to throw him off of him. He was back on his feet in moments, just as the second roman charged again. Jordan instinctively struck out with his sword, but the roman had his shield up.

CRACK! SNAP!

The sound of shattering metal rang in Jordan's ears. He watched in horror as his sword broke in half from the stress of this fight, and all those he had encountered. He was unarmed and his opponents were closing in fast. Jordan turned on his heels and ran. It was all he could do. He began to feel so helpless. He had been dependant on his sword to win his matches. And without it, he realised how weak he truly was. He needed another weapon and fast. He ran for a nearby display where a roman was proudly holding a spear. Jordan seized it and prepared for the advancing Romans. They were going to ram their shields into him again. But this time, he had a plan. With their shields in their line of view, they couldn't see past them. At the last moment, he side stepped the rushing steel wall and lunged out with his spear.

His newfound weapon was better than he expected. The spear entered the first roman, exited through the side of his stomach, and then entered the other one. Both of them were skewered like a shish kabob. Their weapons clanged on the floor as the two clutched their wounds. With a hefty shove, Jordan pushed the two over. The two cried out as they hit the floor but Jordan no longer cared. They'd broken his only weapon and they were going to pay for it. He sneered down at the two and snatched one of their short swords. He quickly brought it down into the exposed face of the first roman. His screams became gurgles as his tongue was cut by the sharp blade. He slowly stopped moving as his partner began moving more frantically. Jordan waited a few seconds before he brought the sword slicing down onto his face too. He gurgled and stopped moving. Jordan scowled down at his would be opponents and realised something dreadful. Had he enjoyed the thrill of mutilating their faces? Why would he enjoy that…

Legion

DEAD

Jordan tried to push the sickly thoughts into the deepest reaches of his mind and took the two swords as spoils of war. Maybe he could sell them for a new weapon...

"Good job Jordan. You are now ranked 24th." Came the oh so familiar voice of Melissa formn the door arch. Jordan looked at her inquisitively.

"24th? But I was 26th earlier…"

"The both of them occupied ranks 25 and 24." She explained and Jordan face palmed. He turned to leave when Melissa stopped him.

"Just to let you know, good move with that spear." She said sincerely. Jordan raised an eyebrow. This was new from her. A real compliment? How odd…

He continued to question it on his way home. He realised some people were staring at his torn shirt. But he didn't care. The loss of his weapon and the pain of his back was numbing his brain to the point where he was daydreaming of pie…

…mmm…pie…


	11. Rank 25&24 aftermath

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 25-24 aftermath

The storm started when he arrived at the blacksmiths. It was a thunder storm. And it was a big one. As he looked out along the lines of the tall buildings, he could see lightning strike an aerial on top of a tall concrete block of flats. He could hear it crackle all the way from his apartment building. That was powerful…

Storms like this were actually quite common in this area. Appearing out of nowhere with amazingly powerful lightning. Other than the assassinations, the lightning storms caused most of the obituaries. No-one yet knew the cause…

But right now Jordan couldn't care less. He knew that soon Melissa would call him with the location of his next challenger. He needed a weapon he could wield properly. Thanks to the two Romans, his sword was broken and he was defenceless to any new opponents. Consequently, his last opponents had also given him the means to get a new weapon. If he could sell their swords for a high price, he might even be able to get a better weapon that last time. And with a better weapon, it meant more efficient killing.

The blacksmiths was as hot and humid as ever from Isaac's work. Steam and smoke hung in the atmosphere as faint and familiar smells, intermingled with the other. The massive figure of Isaac himself could be seen working over a hot set of coals. He was tempted to tap the giant man on the shoulder, but he decided to play it safe and kept away. Isaac continued to heat some metal over the coals before he turned and moved toward the anvil, bringing down his mighty hammer on the metal, forming it into the short sharp blade. Finally, he dunked the metal in the water vat and a might hiss filled the air, ringing out around the small room. After he placed the sword on the wooden bench, he turned toward Jordan and gave a gruff grin.

"I figured you'd want to see me sooner or later. What can I do for you?" he inquired.

"I wanted to see what I could get for these two." As he offered the two short swords to the blacksmith. The large framed man picked the weapons up and examined them with the eye of an expert. After a while he looked back to Jordan.

"I'll give you a hundred and twenty pounds for each." He offered. Jordan's eyes lit up.

"Deal!" he exclaimed, holding his hands out for the cash. But he got none. Isaac chuckled.

"I'll give you your money when you've decided what you're going to buy from me." Jordan's eyebrows shot up.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Well your empty sheath was a dead giveaway" he explained with a chuckle. Jordan groaned as he realised how obvious that was.

"Right… well what would you recommend?" Isaac turned and rooted through some stacks of weaponry. After a short while, he drew out a long gleaming slender sword.

"You seem to have done well with long quick swords. Try this." He said as he gave the sword to Jordan. Jordan took a few practice swings with it. The blade felt so easy to swing, yet from its gleaming edge, he guessed it was extremely sharp. The handle was wrapped in black ribbon with red diamond shapes in between ribbons. "The sword is known in Japan as "Singing Death." It looks like a work of art, but it harbours the power of the reaper himself." Cackled Isaac like some kind of witch doctor. Jordan just stared. "Well that's what they say anyway." He continued. "Oh, and it costs two hundred pounds." Came the stinging price words. Jordan flinched. That was practically all the money he had gotten for the swords. Well it wasn't like he had that much of a choice… and hey, he'd still have some money left over.

"Ok I'll take it Isaac." Jordan said. Isaac handed over Singing death and the four hundred pounds spare he had left. He also handed over his old sheath and took a new one. He pocketed the cash and sheathed Singing death. He didn't care for the name, but a sword was a sword no matter what you called it. And that was all he needed for the coming fights.

"So what rank are you at now?" inquired Isaac. That was odd…why would he be interested?

"Uh…rank 24th." He replied.

"Still a long way to go huh?"

"Yeah…long way" he almost lamented. Isaac clapped him on the back.

"Don't worry about it too much. You're a dab hand with that sword and I'll bet you could even get to the top someday." He encouraged. Jordan smiled at the bigger man.

"Thanks man." He responded before his phone went off. Jordan wondered if he should change the ringtone on it. The current one sounded a bit depressing. Then again, knowing who was calling, maybe that was fitting. He answered his cell.

"Hello Jordan. Are you well?" came the sterile voice of Melissa.

"I am for now…" he grumbled and he could swear he heard Melissa chuckle…

"Good. Anyway, your next fight has been set up. Head to the western outskirts of town and follow the sky." Follow the sky? What the hell did that mean? Before Jordan could ask, the line went as dead as his last opponents. He sighed and pocketed the cell before he left the blacksmiths. Isaac watched him go… and nodded at the man in the shadows, who has watched the unfolding events with extreme fascination.


	12. Rank 23: West

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 23: West

The storm continued to worsen as Jack ventured out of the city limits, and into the barren wasteland of the outskirts. They hadn't always been like this. There used to be massive meadows and orchards of bountiful fruit trees. Then a company called U-Genetics decided it would be a good idea to dump radioactive waste from their genetic experiments into the nearby river. The water had flowed and the plants had been poisoned, wilting the whole countryside in less than two months. These two weeks were referred as "The withering." Environmentalists were mental about it. U-genetics had of course gotten stick from them for the whole genetic experiments regardless of any accidents. U-genetics was shut down after they went bankrupt from a huge lawsuit. Nobody knew what happened to its employee's or its supposed test subjects. But U-genetics had left their mark on the land and they would never be forgotten regardless of whether some giant mutant appeared and ate the city.

Melissa's advice still echoed nonsensically inside his brain. Follow the sky? What the heck did that mean? But then he heard a sharp crackle of electricity and suddenly it was all clear. The lightning was stemming out from one certain point close by, near a rocky outcrop. Jordan continued to approach, gingerly taking each step for fear of his next opponent. He jumped startled as he heard a sharp crackle nearby, and turned to see a bolt of lightning strike against a rock. Was his opponent the cause of this electrical storm? If so then this could be his toughest fight yet… He continued his approach until he finally spotted the implausible assassin. She had unusually short blonde hair and wore a pair of jeans with a belt strapped around looking way too tight. She was also wearing a short sleeve shirt which from the back looked completely yellow. She was also wearing a strange rectangular metal device, strapped to her back. He could also just about see she was wearing some kind of weird gauntlets. Jordan decided to break the ice.

"Hey!" he shouted, getting the woman's attention as she turned to face him. He then saw the front of her shirt had a black image of a voltage warning sign printed around her bust area. She was also wearing a bandana over her mouth. Her brown eye's looked deadly serious. "Are you the wicked witch of the west?" he quipped.

"Wicked witch my ass!" she retorted. She tilted her head to both sides and he could hear some bones click into place. "So you're the little lemming I have to electrocute huh?" she asked rhetorically. Jordan frowned. "I'll take that as a yes" she confirmed. She cracked her knuckles and assumed a fighting stance. "Just before we get to the real fight… let me test your real strength. Show me some moves." She challenged. Jordan nodded feeling almost honourable and assumed a similar stance to her.

She moved first, rushing at him with her left fist drawn back. In truth, Jordan knew jack shit about hand to hand combat. But he knew how to duck and dodge so hopefully the punches would come on their own. The woman began with a right straight, aiming for Jordan's face. Jordan was faster and ducked underneath, delivering a solid uppercut to her jaw. She grunted, but made up for her folly with a fast left jab to Jordan's solar plexus.

"Guh!" he grunted as he staggered back a bit. The woman took her chance and punched him square in the jaw. A bone clicked, skin tore and a tooth clung to the gums for dear life as Jordan toppled sideways and clutched his pained jaw. The woman stood over him, looking down with victory in her eyes. Then she turned away.

"For god's sake…another poser pretending to be the perfect killing machine. You better pray you don't rely on your fists to kill your targets." She commented, walking away as if the match was already over. Jordan got his feet and reclaimed his bearings. He drew singing death and pointed it at her like an accusing finger.

"Hey! I went down but not for the count witch!" The woman sighed a turned to him.

"I have a name you know. Its West. Not that you care."

"Look I don't care. Just because you won the fist fight doesn't mean you can outpunch a sword!" he yelled. She nodded to this.

"You're quite right… in these rankings, physical strength is often meaningless." She almost lamented, as she clicked a button on the metal device strapped to her back. Instantaneously, six metal spikes extended out of it, each with a small mechanical ball at its tip. West extended her hands forward as if she were conjuring some kind of magic spell. And turns out that might be accurate! Suddenly in her hands, a ball of electrical energy began to fizz and crackle. Jordan's eyes stretched to the size of golf balls. Was this shit for real? His eyes darted to the spikes from her back strapped device, as each point was now buzzing with electricity as each point was joined by sparks of electrical energy. "It's how good you are with your weapon." She concluded.

The lightning bolt leaped through the air almost too fast for Jordan to react. Almost. He pretty much just fell to his right to dodge the amazing attack, as the electricity hit a rock and stopped dead at the insulator. Jordan scrabbled to his feet. How the hell was he going to fight this? It was one thing fighting swordsmen and gun wielders, but fucking electricity? That was just impossible. Spotting West charging up for another lightning blast, his brain ground into action as he formulated a strategy. Shooting lightning at that… it was a perfect attack at long range. But at close range it must be dangerous with the potential of shocking herself. So if he could close the gap, he might have a fighting chance!

Another bolt or electricity arced through the air toward him, making him hurl his body behind a rock for cover. He realised if he ran straight at her, he'd be an easy target for her blasts. He could use the rocks for cover for a while… but not long enough. He had to time this perfectly or he'd be fried chicken. He began his approach toward her as her lightning bolts bounced off the rocks he crouched behind. He took a quick peak. He waited for her next attack and it zoomed over his head. He executed his plan and closed in on her, readying his sword for a strike. West stopped charging the electric blast in her hands and took up a defensive stance. Jordan struck forward and West sidestepped, bringing her foot up to kick him in the face. But Jordan was now aware of her affinity for headshots and he was quick to duck under her extending leg. He cut up and he felt a small sense of victory as his blade cut into her thigh. West cringed and backed up fast. Jordan couldn't let her widen the gap or this match was over. But as he charged at the electric diva, she raised her foot and kicked him square in the chest. He felt a rib break and he collapsed backward, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

He scrambled desperately to his feet, watching in horror as West charged up another lightning bolt. He had zero chance of dodging it… there as but one thing he could do. As the spark of pure voltage leaped forward, Jordan raised Singing death to try and deflect the lightning. The sword was crafted from metal and made an excellent conductor, which wasn't good news for Jordan. Luckily, the handle was not and Jordan let out a scream of agony as he felt the voltage course through his hands as it escaped into the air. His hands pleaded him to drop singing death, but he knew if he did, he'd be left wide open to the full extent of the lightning's power. Instead he gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and forced himself to move forward, toward the lightning caster. West's eyes went wide as saucers as her bolts weren't breaking through. She cranked up the power in a desperate attempt to stop Jordan. But unflinching and focused, Jordan finally got too close and she stopped her attack for fear of electrocuting herself. Now that Singing death was free, and the pain in his hands was swelling, Jordan felt an extreme power form inside of him. He conjured this power into Singing death and took a mighty slash at West. He blinked twice as his sword seemed to gleam and his single slash became many. His sword was a blur as it slashed the woman before him, as she desperately raised her gauntlets in defence.

Turns out that Singing death's new found power was far greater than either of them had expected. The mighty blade cut through her gauntlets like they were polystyrene, leaving West vulnerable. But she was not ready to give up. Not yet.

In a last ditch effort, West dug her hand into her pocket while avoiding Jordan's lethal blows, to have it return clutching a detonator. West smashed her thumb on the button and the electric spires on her back buzzed excitedly. The voltage charged up and the arcs became more constant as Jordan's eyes watched in horror, like an animal caught in the headlights of a dead tarmac road. Jordan turned tail and ran for cover, seeking shelter behind a rocky outcrop, curling himself into a ball. West let out a cry of rage as the electricity was at last released, surging forward like an enormous spout of crackling water. The blast slammed into the outcrop, sending huge shockwaves rolling over it, barely missing Jordan.

The storm lasted at least 5 minutes before the crackling ceased and all was quiet. Trembling from the awe inspiring attack, Jordan emerged from cover and approached West…or a least, what was left of her. The woman's own attack had electrocuted her. She was lying on the ground, her once beautiful body unrecognisable under the swelling brought on by the intense heat the electricity had given off. Her metal backpack was a smouldering mess beside her, and the owner was all but breathing. Jordan looked down at her… and he felt pity. She had asked for a tough fight... but she got more than either of them bargained for. Their eyes met… and Jordan nodded, seeing the begging in her eyes. He brought singing death up and rammed it down into West's once chest. Her breathing ceased and she was still. Jordan looked down once more…

"West… thank you for the challenge." He murmured, before he turned and headed off, his body stinging with pain after the deathly duel.

West

DEAD

Jordan didn't even look at Melissa and her goons as they approached and falsely congratulated him. He shuffled past them back toward the east. On his way, amidst the remorseful thoughts and searing pain, he looked to the sky. The sky was now clear, not a cloud in sight.

The electrical storm had died with its master…


	13. Interlude part I

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Interlude: Burns and bad news

Jordan didn't bother heading for home. He instead turned left at a junction, nearly got hit by a flashy sports car, whose driver was more concerned on straightening his hair than watching the road and headed for the hospital. The burns from the battle with West were beginning to show, forming red swelling lumps on his sweaty palms. Singing death was hidden in its sheath, which he'd wrapped in his jacket to prevent any unfortunate questions from the medical staff. He limped up to the desk and asked for some treatment. The receptionist took one look at his swelling burns and checked him into a room. Within minutes, he was lying in a sterile white bed, under sterile white sheets, in a soulless white room with bandages over his wounds. All so white. Was it meant to represent purity? Or did the staff think making everything white makes it clean? He never knew…

A passing nurse distracted him as he watched her from behind. Turns out that nurse was the one taking care of him for the next few hours, soothing his electrically induced burns. The lumps eventually began to deflate and some even disappeared. He was let out of the hospital with some medication and a farewell slap from the nurse when he tried to cop a feel. He waked out of the soulless silver sliding doors… and bumped straight into Melissa.

He groaned instantly.

"Alright… who am I killing?" Melissa shook her head.

"I'm afraid there will be no ranking fights for the rest of this week." She confirmed almost as if she cared. Jordan's eyes became saucer sized.

"Wait seriously? Why's that?" he inquired.

"You see, there hasn't been much action in the rankings recently, so we've decided to step things up a little. That's why in a few days we'll be having a battle royal of the assassins ranked 23rd to 18th." She announced like a football commentator. Jordan's jaw dropped. She wasn't serious…she couldn't be serious. He'd had enough trouble dealing with the two romans, now he head to win a fight against 5 other assassins? How was that possible?

"So, I suggest you get some rest and gear up for the battle. And I'll see you in a week~" she cooed, before she turned and left. She was being serious… Jordan felt a massive sense of impending doom settle on his shoulders. Even more than his earlier ranking fights. This was going to be his biggest challenge…and if his burns didn't heal before then, he'd be fucked. Utterly and totally fucked.

Jordan's game plan for the next few days seemed simple, but was in fact hard to achieve. His first goal was to allow his burns to heal. That didn't happen as fast as he wanted. It was Saturday morning by the time he realised they were bearably sized and didn't affect his handling of Singing Death. He hadn't heard from Vespia either. Wonder why…

He sloppily slid out of bed and shuffled over to his dresser, almost zombie like. He claimed his sword from the dresser drawer and slipped the sheath over his back. He was going to use today to go do some work for more cash to pay off his assassin debts, and maybe buy some good things, and tomorrow he'd train. He could only hope Dojo would be tomorrow and didn't take Sundays off. He could only hope.

The streets seemed surprisingly desolate. No people, no voices, no noise… empty… empty. He rarely ever went out on Saturdays so he shouldn't have been shocked to know nothing. He headed over to the building Vespia had told him about, the one where he could do some assassinations for money. The building looked like an average office building, glass windows all over it and the images of people tapping at computers. He went in through the big white doors…huh…reminiscent of that hospital. Behind the doors was a cold bank like room, with a single wooden desk at the other end of the room, a glass wall separating the secretary from the rest of the room. She was leaning on her arms, and had her eyes shut. Was she asleep? Jordan approached and knocked on the glass.

"Hey. Vespia Tarot recommended this place to me." He called to the other side. The woman's eyes snapped open and she stuttered for a bit. She straightened herself up and looked at Jordan.

"Uh yes… We have a few job offers today. Take a look." She offered as she slid three brown envelopes under a gap in the glass. Jordan looked over one of them. It was of some corrupt CEO, selling black market firearms. Perfect target for a sword wielder. He looked at the next one. Some sort of drug dealer, going around in a silver dilapidated van. He couldn't imagine who'd want him gone. And the third…was some guy's ex. Seriously? Now that was what he called a vendetta. He looked over his three options. The black market arms dealer sounded dangerous, and the ex girlfriend just sounded stupid. That left the drug dealer. Well, it was better than nothing. He rapped on the glass to get the girls attention and pointed to the second file.

"Ok, so just sign the form inside and take the map and photo with you, k?" she asked, and Jordan nodded in agreement. He followed her instructions, and headed for the streets, clutching the map in his left hand and the photo in his right. The guy was quite raggedy, with dreadlocks flowing down his face and a pair of sunglasses masking his eyes. He had a gold ring in his left nostril and his skin was black. He just screamed suspicious. According to it, this guy normally showed up around the high school after three PM. Well, it was half past two now so that was convenient.

Jordan spent fourteen minutes walking to the school, three minutes buying a hotdog at a nearby stand, and thirteen minutes walking again. The school was soon in sight. It was a fairly modern building, with white sweeping soulless walls. Probably made of concrete. There were a number of doors, all shut till the classes ended. That's when Jordan noticed the van.

He could just imagine his car crazy father calling it "an old banger." It had brown flecking paint, key scratches all over the sides. One of its wheel hubs was missing too, and the left side mirror was broken. It staggered into the school parking lot and pulled over. A window wound down and the man from his picture leaned out. Every detail was accurate. Even down to that plastic, evil grin he was wearing. He crept up behind the van and stood with his back to it. He had to make sure he took this guy out quickly and unnoticed. Out in the open, if someone spotted him, the police would be here in moments. That and, the guy might be able to fight back. Then again, he wasn't an assassin so it couldn't be that bad. Compared to the romans, mad foreman and lightning wielder. He crept along the backside of the van, peering round to look through the windows. The driving area was a mess. There floor was paved with litter as if it were pavement. There was gum stuck to the roof, fresh cigarettes in the ashtray and in the passenger seat, a heaping pile of joints. This guy had a nice stock. Jordan wondered how much he made off of school kids…

His thoughts were interrupted as the guy began to turn, and he ducked behind the van. But the guy must have spotted him, because he heard the driver's door open, and a soft thud as the guy got out. He heard footsteps as he walked around the hood of the car, toward the opposite side. Jordan could swear he heard something metal click. He shuffled swiftly but quietly round to the other side of the van. He couldn't keep up this hide and seek shtick for much longer. He knew he'd be found out sooner or later. He listened intently for the guys reaction.

"Huh…coulda sworn I heard someone…must be going mad." He murmured. Jordan could definitely agree with that. The guy made his way back to the driver's seat. Now was his chance. The guy was behind the van, and had his back turned. This could make for an easy kill, and he wouldn't get spotted. He quickly and quietly took out Singing death, and crept back around the back of the van, spotting the guy with his back turned. He broke his veil of stealth and ran at the drug dealer, sword ready to dig into his back. But his noise had alerted the man, and he turned in time to step back quickly. It was then Jordan spotted the pocket knife in his hand.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing you little shit?" he shouted. Jordan gripped Singing Death hard and spat out the words.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Ha! Just fucking try it mother fucker!" he hollered. He lunged forward with the knife, only serving to prove Jordans first assumptions of the guy. He wasn't looking before he leapt. Litterally. It took Jordan a moment to strike into the man's stomach with his sharp sword. A curse gurgled and died in his throat as he flopped on the blade, like a fish on the hook. The job was done. The cash was in the bag. But then he heard the bell go. The bell rung out loud. It was telling him he was a dead ringer if he didn't get out of there fast. But he still had a body to get rid of. Another idea appeared in his head. He changed his position and with his free hand, opened the van door. He retrieved his sword from the man's guts and pushed him backward into his van. He clumsily shoved the body inside and wiped his sword on the man's jacket. He then slammed the door and sheathed singing death, before legging it down the road and out the school gates. He didn't stop running till he was far away. Or at least as far as his legs would carry him. When he felt he was safe, he made his way toward the outskirts of town, to find a certain homeless man.

He walked along the empty streets and thought to himself. He wondered about that guy in the van. Would anyone notice straight away? They might after a bit if his van didn't move, but maybe not immediately. Then he spotted an ambulance racing past and he was put in his place.


	14. Interlude part 2

No more heroes: Similarity and causality

Interlude II: Mastering Mojo

Jordan strode out of the building, cool as you like and flipped through the roll of bills he'd been paid for his job. A smile spread across his face. It was a sizeable amount of cash, around five hundred pounds. It was the most he had ever seen in his life, but given the nature of his job, he was guessing that fact would not remain constant. Now he could pay for all those ranked matches so far. But before he did that, there was someone he had to go and visit. He turned left from the offices, and headed up the high street. It was around four now, and the streets were busier, various people going here and there. He guessed it was because they finished their shifts at around three, like the students left school around that time. He wondered if anyone would inquire into the drug dealers death…

He shook the thought from his mind as he came across the coach in the fence. As usual, it was dilapidated and dusty, rust flecked over its shell. As he approached, he heard a thump, and a familiar tramp appeared on the roof.

"Whaddya want?" he shouted drunkenly, waving his silver wine bottle at him. Jordan couldn't help but chuckle.

"Don't you recognize me?" he shouted back. The hobo took a moment to identify him, and a sense of realization appeared on his face.

"Oh hey Jordan" he said at last. "Come on in and I'll put the kettle on!" he shouted, before vanishing over the roof, as fast as he had appeared. Jordan climbed the stairs into the coach and walked along the rubbery floor. He peered out of the big back window and saw the bum in the gap behind the coach. He was crouched over a small fire, burning through some newspapers. There was a tripod over the fire, with a small old rusty kettle perched atop it, whistling with steam as water boiled. There were two mugs on the left of him, stained from consistent use and a box of teabags that was most likely stolen. No sugar or milk though. Shame. Jordan sat down across from him as he poured out the hot water into the mugs and added a teabag into each. He passed one to Jordan.

"So…I heard you're doing well in the ranks. Ranked 23rd right?" he asked, sipping at the mug. Jordan nodded in reply.

"But I'm kinda worried about this whole "Battle Royale" Melissa has planned". He admitted, slurping at his hot drink. Dojo's eyes became more slanted and serious.

"She's playing that card is she? Then you need training if you're going to make it through that bloodbath." Jordan frowned.

"It really is serious huh?" Dojo nodded and scowled slightly.

"Kid, you're going into a battle against multiple assassins who are higher ranked than you. Statistically, you're the weakest." He concluded and Jordan sighed at his master's confidence in him. Suddenly, Dojo was on his feet as he poured his tea onto the grass. "Well! That just means you're gonna have to master your mojo."

"Master my what now?" he asked, as he was certain his "tutor" had lost the plot. A mad grin appeared on Dojo's face as he retrieved his wine bottle sword.

"Best way to learn is to see it in motion kid." Jordan got up too and unleashed Singing Death. Dojo hopped from one foot to the other, humming something unrecognizable. Jordan ignored it and lunged at his master…and instantly regretted it. Dojo's blade was glowing with the same blue energy he had seen when he fought West. The second metal hit metal, Jordan could feel his opponents energy as he was knocked backwards. Was this the power of Mojo? Dojo continued to advance on him and Jordan rushed in for another strike. Once again, the sheer power of the energy sent him flying backward. "See? This is Mojo. And from that look on your face, I'm guessing you've seen it before."

"Yeah. When I fought that girl…it was all over my sword." Dojo cracked another mad grin.

"As I suspected. Alright, remember how you felt when you used that power. Replicate that intense feeling if you want to beat me." Dojo lunged forward and Jordan only just managed to sidestep. He concentrated hard, trying to remember how he felt…he had felt…angry? Or was it…overwhelmed? Maybe it was hatred… Guh, he couldn't remember. Of course, all this distracted him from Dojo, who took this opportunity to slash across Jordan's arm. The long cut began to weep blood as its owner cringed and gripped it. His skin felt white hot, as if it were trying to cauterize the wound. His blood boiled…and then it clicked. This was how he felt. A mixture of anger, hatred and determination…and now that he remembered it, he was going to hold onto it as long as his arm bled. His knuckles went white as he gripped Singing Death. And the blue energy surrounded his blade, fuelling his strength.

He felt renewed. Strong enough to take on the world. But right now, Dojo was his target. He struck out at his master, the blades clashed and Dojo was the one to be sent back this time. But Jordan was not satisfied and he lunged at Dojo, aiming for the stomach. The wine bottle sword met his strike with equal force and the two exchanged quick blows, their weapons ringing out in the cold afternoon. Finnaly, Dojo backed off.

"Good job kid. You've just about mastered Mojo. For now anyway, we'll do more complex stuff at another time." Jordan finally breathed again. He sheathed Singing Death and ran his finger over his new scar, wincing slightly. "Sorry bout that, but I figured it was the only way to trigger your emotions."

"So…what exactly is Mojo?" Jordan asked.

"Well its hard to explain." Dojo began, settling back onto his grassy carpet. "You ever seen Star wars?" Jordan arched an eyebrow but nodded. He had seen it a few times, it was practically a classic.

"Well mojo is kinda like the force. It's an energy field that surrounds everything. It can be harnessed if you know how to." He went on. Jordan gave him a blank look. If he hadn't experienced mojo for himself the other day, he'd be calling bullshit right about now. "Of course, you have to be extremely focused to harness it, and even then it won't last forever."

"So it'll make me strong but only for a little while?" Jordan summarized. Dojo nodded and then gave something of a half-smile. "What?" Jordan asked curiously.

"I'm just glad there's someone else out there who doesn't think all this is crazy." Jordan stared at him.

"I don't think I can ever think anything is weird again considering I had to fight a mad forklift driver and a girl that can wield electricity to get this far." He joked. They both laughed at that, lightening the mood some as the sun continued its descent behind the hills.

"You'd better head home soon. Town gets real messy at night." Dojo warned as Jordan looked to the sky to check the time. He was on his feet and waved a quick goodbye to his "master" before heading back onto the main street. He would be heading home soon…but first, he felt like some new threads. That and the sweat patch under his arm wouldn't be going away any time soon.


	15. Interlude part 3

No More Heroes: Similarity and Causality

Interlude III: Master of the silent kill

Jordan walked into the clothes shop, otherwise known as "J-Z." It was owned by some guy called "J-Z." He'd never told Jordan his real name, but he'd been a constant customer so they were on somewhat friendly terms. The automatic doors slid open and Jordan stepped inside. There was some music playing of some Japanese singer he'd never heard of. Certainly made an atmosphere. J-Z himself was behind the front desk, dressed in his classic outfit of a black hoodie with torn sleeves, a fedora and a couple of badges over his collar. He presumed he was wearing jeans, but for fear of looking like a creep, Jordan never confirmed his suspicions. He didn't even know if J-Z had legs. He leafed through the racks of trendy and gaudy clothes, looking for something he liked the look of. He stopped at a cream jacket and tried it on. Over his red shirt, this matched pretty well. He snatched some jeans to match and handed them to J-Z, along with a handful of cash. J-Z quietly accepted the money and handed him his change, and a receipt. Jordan nodded as a way of "thank you" and made for the door. He heard J-Z cough something that sounded like words, but he paid it no heed. Maybe he'd only just noticed Jordan's battle scar?

The sun was setting on the empty city as Jordan made his way home. This dump never did have that many people. Maybe it was thanks to all the assassinations and stuff. He walked out of the residential area and into the suburbs where his motel waited, along with some nature. He heard a rustle nearby and his paranoia forced him to turn to it. There was no-one there…just some dead leaves. He continued on his way home…but his paranoia plagued him, telling him that someone was following him. He couldn't shake it no matter what he did, not even when he reached the motel door. He hurried up the stairs and into his room, locking the door behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling alone once more.

The rest of the evening passed swiftly. Jordan went about his usual business, eating some leftovers for dinner and watching some bad television. Same old same old. He put Singing Death under his bed as he clambered in and prepared to sleep.

Then he heard it. The breathing. Not his own. But someone. Someone else in his room. Had he truly been followed? Was there someone in his room? He wanted to sit up. He wanted to get up and switch the light on. He knew he could defend himself. But he was petrified. The thought that someone else was in there with him, ready to strike. Jordan didn't quite understand why he was scared, but that no longer mattered.

A silver glint in the darkness snapped him out of it, as his follower lunged towards him, knife aiming for his throat. Jordan only just managed to roll to one side, falling off his bed and scrabbling underneath it for Singing Death. His hand clasped around the familiar handle just as he heard the attacker draw a second knife. He rolled to the left as the knife hit the flood with a thud. He was on his feet now, drawing Singing Death when his attacker kicked him In the face, sending him stumbling across the room and collapsing into his drawers.

With an exclamation of pain, he sank to the floor, in time to see the assassin reclaim his knives and lunge at him again. But this time, they met metal. Jordan clutched Singing Death in a block, trying desperately to keep his attacker at bay. Or at least the shadow in the dark that he assumed was his attacker. He managed to force him back and get to his feet. Jordan kept his eyes on him and sidestepped toward the light switch. Just as his free hand was reaching for it, a knife flew past him and embedded itself in the switch. He heard an electrical buzz. No chance of light now. He was stuck in the dark.

With his remaining knife in hand, his attacker jabbed at him. Jordan dodged to the left and backed up to avoid the soulless steel, surging towards him. But his attacked was relentless, continuing to stab at him, hoping to pierce his exposed skin. But Jordan kept up his footwork, keeping back from his attacker, his initial fear stopping him from fighting back. Battling all those assassins…it hadn't helped him at all…but then his mind snapped. He couldn't dodge this killer of the night forever. He had to fight back. He was an assassin, not a coward!

So he fought back. He swung Singing Death at the attackers head, which he only just managed to dodge, leaving him open for a kick in the solar plexus. The wind was knocked out of him but he tried to stab at Jordan. Jordan was ready this time, dodging to one side and slashing at his arm. The killer screamed, without any trace of masculinity, something warm splashed on Jordan's face and his attacker fell to the floor, clutching his injured arm…or…could it be a girl? Jordan kicked the blade out of his or her hand should he or she tried something and pointed Singing Death to his attacker's throat.

"Any last words?" he said. He could get a good look at his attacker now. She was clearly female by the bulges in her shirt and the single length of brown hair descending down her back. Her clothes were all black with a few pieces of body armour, and she had a mask covering her face. She looked up at him, one hand on her belt.

"Yes…three actually." She answered, looking up and grinning through the mask. "See you soon." She muttered before she revealed a spherical object from her belt, pressing a button on top of it. Immediately, smoke swept across the room, blinding Jordan completely. He coughed and spluttered, wandering through the smoky darkness, blind as a bat. He searched about for his attacker, taking wild swings in the dark, hoping to finish her off. Suddenly, he heard the smash of glass and turned towards it. The smoke was escaping through the now large hole in his window. She'd escaped…

Jordan watched her through the window, leaping across the rooftops with the greatest of ease. Jordan felt the colour drain out of him. Now he knew someone was after him. But who? Who'd want to take the life of a stupid young assassin like him?


	16. Rank 23 to 19 prelude

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Prelude: The Battle Royale

Jordan couldn't sleep that night. He couldn't possibly. He was scared. Scared to the deepest depths of his soul. The attack from the mysterious ninja had been a real wake up call. The further he moved up the ranks, the more people would want him dead, inside or outside of ranking fights. He'd have to constantly be on guard now…always alert…always ready to fight back. He felt anxious. Anxious that something would leap out at him and stab him in the face with a piece of soulless, life stealing metal. But eventually, fatigue got the better of him, and he drifted off, not of his own accord. His dream was a black, empty, desolate canvas just like the clothes that ninja had worn…

His saviour from the emptiness was his phone going off in an obnoxious ringtone he'd been meaning to change. Jordan bolted upright and looked around, expecting an attacker. But seeing the phone, he sighed with relief and seized it.

"Hello?" he answered drowsily.

"Good morning Jordan. I hope you are ready." Came the common cold call of Melissa. Jordan's mind blanked.

"Ready for what?" he asked stupidly. He could hear Melissa groan at the other end.

"The battle royale. Its today you dunce." Jordan's mind took a few seconds to remember.

"…shit! When does it start?"

"In 30 minutes. Pull yourself together and get over to the football stadium in the north of town!" she ordered before hanging up. In a whirl of disorientation, Jordan was up. He threw on his new outfit, snatched a bagel from the bread bin, grabbed singing death and slung it over his back and sipped some water from the tap. Then, he bolted for the door, half a bagel in his mouth, as he headed for the stadium.

The stadium was brand new, and unbeknownst to Jordan, had been funded by the UKAA. Their only reason for this was to have some use of the stadiums facilities to host "special events." It was a big oval shape with a smaller oval hole in it to let sunlight in. The outside walls were solid concrete and looked rather uninviting from outside. The walls were lined with cheap plastic seats, grotty with the aftermath of last nights match where Aston Villa had lost three nil. There was also a commentator's box overseeing the seats, getting a clear view of the emerald pitch. It was fresh cut grass with bold stark lines marking the various areas of the pitch. The goalposts were gleaming like silver. The perfect place to splatter some blood.

Jordan hurried across the vast car park, toward the arch shaped entrance. As he hurried in, he was greeted by a familiar face. It was Melissa, standing there in a sharp pinstriped suit, a bowler hat and a multicoloured umbrella under her arm. She looked somewhat out of place.

"You made it. Three minutes till we start Jordan." She teased. Jordan doubled over and puffed and panted, desperate to regain his breath. Melissa took pity on him and handed him some bottled water. As he gulped it down, she explained the rules to him.

"You will start when the whistle blows. If you attempt an attack before that, you will be disqualified. Your objective is to kill all your opponents and the battle will only end when that happens. Head through gate 23 behind me." Jordan looked up to see that behind her were a number of entryways, leading to stairs. There were numbered by flicking digits. He went over to the arch with the 23 adorning it and began to make his descent. He looked back at Melissa for a moment and said.

"How many people am I up against?" she chuckled.

"You'll know soon enough. Good luck Jordan." She encouraged half heartedly. Jordan smiled wryly and continued down the stone steps. They led him under the earth, into a long twisting tunnel, lit only by dim overhead lights. Jordan followed the path, half blind and half cold. Eventually he reached a dead end, and a small circular metal plate. Written on it in bold red letters was "Stand here." Jordan obeyed and stepped onto the platform. He waited in the darkness…waiting….waiting…

Suddenly, there was light above him. A circular hole above his head had opened up like an iris. Then he was moving toward it, the metal plate elevating toward the light. His head emerged from the round hole. Up into the football stadium. He continued to rise until he was standing on the pitch itself. He took a look around and spotted four other opponents, all rising up to his level. They, like all his previous opponents, were quite a list of characters. The first one he noticed looked like he was in his mid twenties, his ginger hair reflecting the light. He was dressed in scruffy informal clothes including jeans and an orange t-shirt with a smiley face on it. He also had a ginger moustache. In his left hand, he was holding some kind of staff with two serrated blades at either end. This gave Jordan incentive to draw his own weapon.

The second to appear was dressed as smartly as Melissa was. Black formal suit, sunglasses covering his eyes and a scar vanishing into his deep brown hair, formed into a widow's peak. The sunglasses seemed like something out of the ordinary though…Jordan wasn't sure what it was, but he was not keen to find out. He also noticed he wasn't holding a weapon… how odd.

The third was a giant of a man dressed in a grey trench coat. His hair was pitch black and slicked down over the back of his head. He had some stubble across his chin and Jordan guessed he was in his thirties. Resting over one shoulder, the man was holding an enormous, heavy, blood stained trident that had clearly seen its fair share of assassinations. The man's face looked like it was carved from stone. Soulless, solid and sublime.

The final figure to emerge was a woman oddly enough. Her hair was dyed pink and spiked slightly around the back. She was dressed in a karate robe and covering her hands was a pair of ridged gloves. She was also wearing solid leather combat boots. Her robe was tied up with a black belt, with the emblem of a burning skull emblazoned on it.

All his opponents looked tough… they all looked well above him in terms of power. Jordan was feeling very outclassed. But he had to stay confident. He'd taken down 7 assassins already to get this far and he wasn't going to let this battle royale end his career as an assassin….or his life for that matter. Suddenly the speakers crackled and a voice was heard over the stadium.

"Assassins ready!" it called. Jordan dug his foot into the ground and readied singing death. He saw he other assassins take positions. He had to be ready for their attacks…regardless of which one went for him first.

Then the whistle went, the loud shrill sound echoing around the stadium. On the sound of the whistle, all five assassins left their plates and ran for the centre of the stadium. Kickoff was about to take place…


	17. Rank 23 to 19: The battle royale

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

The Battle Royale

Melissa watched from the commentators box as the fighters ran to the centre. A battle royale was always the perfect way to keep things moving in the rankings, and provide some good entertainment. Five killers all going at it all at once. Perfect. She was keeping her eye on Jordan though. Her little rising star. He'd been showing progress at the very least and she expected great things from him. But still, he was up against four this time instead of one, or at the most two considering the Legion. But whatever…no matter what happened here, she was guaranteed a show. So she leaned back in her seat, sipped her soda, kept a hand in a bucket of popcorn and watched the first strike

There was an enormous clash of blades as the trident, the sword, and the staff met in the middle of the field. But neither had counted on the woman in the robe, as she launched a punch at Jordan. It hit home and he stumbled back, holding his cheek. The woman took this opportunity to continue her assault, kicking him in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of Jordan and he felt weak suddenly. The woman was about to kick him in the head with her heavy boots when she was struck in the shoulder by the man in the suit, wielding what looked like a knife. She turned and glared at him, and made a punch for his face, giving Jordan time to compose himself. He surveyed the battlefield. The giant and the ginger were clashing over to the left and the suit and the woman were busy with each other. Perfect time to take one of them out, he thought to himself. He decided to take out one of the fist fighters seeing as they'd be unable to defend themselves. He approached the woman from behind but she somehow sensed him and spun around to kick him in the chest.

Her heavy boot met the blade of Jordan's sword. It was strong enough to not be too damaged but it was enough to make her stop. She quickly spun and threw a punch into the suit's face, sending him flying back, before turned her attention back to Jordan. But Jordan spied an opportunity. Quickly, he slashed at the woman who raised her arm to block it, but Jordan had faked her out and slipped behind her. He raised his sword and plunged it into the suit's chest. A spatter of blood covered the once clean blade and the suit gurgled in his death throes.

"Well that was eas-"he was cut off by a sharp punch to the fact. For a second there, he'd forgotten his other opponent, who had now delivered a sharp kick to his back. He spun round to face her and jabbed his sword at her to keep her away. He kept pushing her back further and further, hoping to back her into the wall so he could corner her. But this woman was clever, and as Jordan jabbed, sweep kicked him and sent him tumbling. She pinned him under her elbow and raised her fist to finish him off.

For some reason, her eye's transfixed Jordan. They were not mad with rage or calm as some of his other opponents had been. In fact… he could almost swear the look was one of passion. Almost…sexual passion. Was that why this woman was an assassin? Because she got that kind of thrill about killing others? The thought disturbed him by an alarming amount…

He was snapped out of his daydreams when he noticed the woman's face cringe and she pulled away. I looked up to see the ginger man, his serrated blade dripping with the woman's blood. He's picked the right time to attack all right. It almost made Jordan feel embarrassed. He may have scored the first kill, but the others were clearly out of his league. Stronger, smarter and better techniques. And he was just Jordan. Just Jordan…

But those thoughts scattered once he realised the man was the trident was barrelling toward him, ready to impale. Jordan knew he couldn't intercept, not a man of that size. So he did the next best thing. He rolled out to his left and prayed the man didn't have a fast enough reaction to stop him. Thankfully, he did not. So Jordan was away for the moment, and got back to his feet. Now they were closer, the man could not rush at him like a freight train but he still had his strength. Strength that Jordan knew he was no match for.

But he had to try. The trident and the sword clashed and locked as Jordan's heels skidded across the grassy underfoot of the stadium, sending blades flying around his feet. He desperately tried to dig in, get some traction on the slippery dirt, but it was no use. The giant was overwhelming him and it wouldn't be long before he either gave up or got stabbed. Luckily, the goddess of luck had her eye on him today.

A serrated blade pierced through the man's back and protruded through his chest. The ginger man had struck once more and now the giant was slain. Down he toppled like a might oak, dropping his trident and falling to the ground, bloody pools staining the clean grass. Jordan had to admit he'd underestimated this assassin. As the ginger man set his sights on him, Jordan couldn't help but look back at the woman. Her arm bore a mighty gash from her battle with the ginger man. He doubted she could go on now that her main weapon was neutralised.

The ginger man began his assault, lunging at Jordan with his staff. Singing Death met it head on and forced it away. The two blades clashed again and again in what seemed like a never ending struggle. Sometimes the blades would avoid each other leaving the ginger man or Jordan with another scar. But still they battled, dealing blow after blow, daring the other break their guard. Then, the mistake happened.

The ginger man was clearly tired, as was Jordan. Their swings became sluggish and their movements choppy. The ginger man lunged at Jordan, ducking his head low… his one mistake for that whole battle. Jordan promptly side stepped his strike and brought Singing Death down on the man's neck. The metal hummed almost melodiously as it severed flesh, bone, vocal chords and all. Fresh blood oozed out of the neck like water from a busted tap.

Jordan's mind deluded him that the battle was over. That somehow he had come out on top. Then he heard footsteps behind him. Apparently his battle with the ginger man had given the woman time to recover. She was running at him, her good hand curled up into a fist, ready to launch a flying punch at him. She had that look in her eyes again. Creepy… yet piquing to Jordan's curiosity.

As she ran and threw her punch, Jordan felt a surge. The now familiar surge of mojo. His body felt strong with the blue energy surrounding him as he blocked the woman's fist. He fought back, pressing her back from him, fist hitting metal and metal hitting fist. She knew she had little chance now, so she made a desperate attack. She leaped back and prepared herself, before she lunged at him, fist aiming for his head. But Jordan was ready for it. He ducked under her flying fist, and brought his sword up, slicing into her stomach. She became short of breath as Jordan let her fall back, onto the ground. He looked down at her… and somehow…he felt respect for her. Going into a league of assassins using nothing but your fists took courage. He knelt down and took the woman's hand, shaking it as a sign of a good battle. Her lips cracked a smile…a satisfied smile that she'd met a worth opponent…and then she was still.

**THE SUITOR **

**DEAD**

**TYRONE BREAKNECK**

**DEAD**

**ED**

**DEAD**

**QUEEN OF FIGHTERS**

**DEAD**

He heard applause from the stadium around. He looked about frantically, but there was no-one there. The stadium was deserted. Must be speakers. But one of the pair of hands clapping for his success was real. He looked to the commentators box and saw Melissa, clapping slowly.

"You are now ranked 18th Jordan. Excellent job." She complimented, with a hint of sincerity lacing her delicate voice. Jordan couldn't help but smile up to her. She did not return the smile. Just clapped. Her two white soldiers were already on the pitch, claiming the bodies to be taken off to god knows where. Jordan cared not. He walked out of the stadium with his head held high, proud of surviving his ordeal.

The football that weekend was cancelled, and the fans were in an uproar.


	18. Rank 18: Meltdown

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 18: Meltdown

Jordan spent his whole weekend relaxing. The battle royale had taken a lot out of him and he needed to recuperate. Get his strength back. For he knew, it wouldn't be long before he got another call from the UKAA's head, with details of his next target. So far as Jordan cared, it could take another few weeks. Maybe even months. Maybe even…

The phone's ringing disrupted his train of thought and he grumbled noisily. He grabbed the phone and snapped at it.

"What."

"My, someone woke up on the grouchy side of the bed today." This was not Melissa's voice. This voice was much sweeter… Jordan blushed with embarrasement.

"Oh! Vespia…I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Its alright hun. I understand." She replied coolly. "When I was an assassin, I'd snap at whoever was phoning me too." She admitted and Jordan smiled a little for knowing that.

"So…what's up?" Smooth Jordan, he thought to himself. Real smooth.

"Well, you kinda forgot about our date last Thursday." Jordan's heart sank. He hadn't forgotten it, he'd been in hospital with burns from his fight with West. Still, he couldn't help but feel he had let her down…

"I'm sorry, I wa-"

"Its alright hun." She cut him off. "So, if you're free tomorrow night, I was wondering if you'd like to go to a nightclub with me."

"A…nightclub?" Jordan had only ever stepped into one of those places by accident. He hadn't seen much, but from what he could gather, they were brightly lit places where people came to dance like imbeciles while being screamed at by loud pounding music he didn't recognise. "Sure, tomorrow sounds good." He agreed, throwing out his assumptions of the past.

"Ok cool. I'll come over to yours at 7. Bye!" and then she was gone. Jordan flopped back onto his bed with a Cheshire cat grin. Life was good. Then the phone rang again, and he wondered if she'd forgotten to tell him something. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello Jordan. Your next target is ready." Came the classic cold voice of Melissa. Jordan groaned so she could hear but she ignored it. "Head to the power plant to the west of town. Someone will meet you there."

West of town? Wasn't that the power plant that U-genetics had run before they collapsed?

"Alright, I'm on it." He answered, and promptly hung up before she could, hoping to annoy her a little bit. He snatched up Singing Death and made for the door.

He managed to hail a cab and get to the west of town quick enough. The cab driver paid no attention to his sword. Or at least, he didn't mention it. Jordan paid the guy and stepped out. The power plant before him was huge, with two towers looming and dominating the sight. The rest of the plant was a mess of small copper coloured buildings and various pieces of machinery Jordan could never hope to understand. All encased in a shell of mesh and barb wire fences. An industrial giant, sleeping soundly. After U-genetics poisoned the countryside, they left the plant to rust away, along with all of its hazardous materials. It had since been condemned by the city officials but apparently an assassin had taken refuge in it. At least, that's what Jordan assumed considering it was there he was headed. He walked through the gap in the chain link fence, under the looping barb wire, and into the main complex. Someone was waiting for him next to a door to a large building.

"Are yo-"

"No. The assassin is inside." He responded quick as a whippet. Jordan nodded as the man opened the door, allowing him inside.

"Head down the stairs there." He advised, and Jordan decided to believe him. As he descended, he noticed the air growing more humid around him. The temperature was rising. And as he emerges from a set of double doors, he found out why.

He was in the furnace of the giant power plant, apparently still red hot from recent use. How strange, he thought. The room was dominated by the giant, smoke belching furnace, churning away as it burned something to a crisp. There was someone at the other end of the room, dressed in an orange heat resistant suit, wearing a tall pointed black hood, shovelling coal into the furnace to keep it going. The figure's supplies were diminishing. Wiping his brow at the heat, Jordan called out.

"Hey! You rank 18?" the figure turned. It was revealed that he was wearing black coarse gloves as well, no doubt to protect him from the heat. He was wearing a gas mask too, covering his whole face. He put the shovel down and approached a nearby table, seizing a strange gadget off of it. It was a copper coloured triangular device on the end of a long pole. On both sides of it and on the uppermost flat side, where small nozzles. Three of them. Jordan wondered what they could possibly be for. The figure approached him quickly, holding the device in both hands before standing opposite him, looking him in the eye. That's what Jordan assumed anyway, not like he could see his eyes.

"You ready?" came the muffled voice of the figure. Jordan drew Singing Death, smiling at the familiar ring of metal.

"Oh yeah." He replied, confidence lacing his voice. That confidence melted as the figure turned a dial on the triangular device. From the three nozzles, three red hot tongues of flame burst out, licking at the air. The device was some kind of fire trident. How in all hell was he supposed to fight this?

He'd have to find out quickly as the masked man charged, pointing his trident at him. Jordan dodged back as he swung the trident, the flame licking at his heels. The man attacked again, forcing Jordan to roll across the ground to dodge. This wasn't going well. He had to find some way to combat this deadly flaming weapon or he'd be toast. Literally.

He dived to the left to dodge another fiery burst and thrust at the figure with his blade. The figure raised the handle part of his trident to block, but it gave Jordan the opening he needed. He swung at the figures face, hoping to leave a mark in it and maybe force the gas mask off. His attack however merely scratched the mask, leaving it on the figures face. He backed off quickly to avoid the flames. This was getting him nowhere. He'd either have to disable that weapon somehow or find a good way to counter it. He rolled to the left as the flames swept over him and caused his jacket to catch on fire. He continued rolling till it was out, and he was covered in soot.

"You made me ruin my jacket you ass!" he shouted, but this didn't help as the pyromaniac bore down on him again. Jordan leapt back as the flames nearly licked him, then lunged forward, slashing at the figures stomach. The flame retardant suit tore open, revealing what looked like bare, pale skin underneath. Jordan raised an eyebrow questioningly, but quickly backed off to avoid more flames. The figure stood opposite him for a moment. Unmoving. Unflinching. Then, his hand moved to the dial and turned it up again. The flames grew in size and heat. Jordan was sweating bullets, just from standing opposite those flames of hell. Then, he was at him again, swinging his fire trident. Jordan leapt back, but the flames could reach him this time. He once again rolled on the ground to put out the fire on his jacket. The flames had eaten right through his sleeve. He glared at the gas mask enigma. He could feel his Mojo flowing through him, enticing him into taking another strike. He lost his fear…and charged at the masked man.

The pyromaniac brought his trident up to defend and set the younger man's shirt aflame. But it didn't even faze him, as his blade glowed with pure energy. He slashed at the enigma, who brought his weapon to defend. He slashed it again and again while the flames devoured him. He knocked the trident out of his opponents hands and slashes thrice before backing off and putting out his burning garments. His first two strikes hit flesh, revealing the figures oddly slender arms. His third had cut the mask clean in two. As the pieces fell, his opponents face was revealed. And Jordan's eyebrows leapt up. His opponent was female. All this time, this powerful fire wielding enemy had been a girl? He'd never suspected it for a moment… but from the look on her face, he knew he was not finished. She charged at him again, trident ready. But Jordan had a plan. Now that her gasmask was gone, he could put it into action. He roll dodged her attack, picking up some soot as he rolled. He got back to his feet, hiding his secret weapon behind his back. She came at him again…and he sprung into action.

He brought his other hand out and tossed the soot into her face. She stumbled and raised a hand to try and clear her vision, as she coughed from the black powder. Jordan finnaly had his chance. He kicked the trident from her hand and stabbed her through the belly. She spluttered and blood trickled from her mouth. She stumbled back, clutching her belly, before she fell back…and looked up at him.

"…too hot…for me…" and then she lay still.

**MELTDOWN**

**DEAD**

Jordan wiped Singing Death on her suit and moved to leave…but then he looked back. Why was he feeling so guilty all of a sudden? This wasn't the first time he'd killed a girl… He wished he hadn't said that as images of Dreadlocks, West and The queen of fighters flooded back to him. Her rubbed his eyes and convinced himself that he wasn't a coward. He was doing it for her….for…Vespia… his eyes lit up when he remembered her. Strange girl yes…but gorgeous…and…

He looked back at the pyromaniac again…and decided to act. He slipped off her suit, revealing that under it she only wore shorts and a small shirt. Resisting the urge to cop a feel, he laid her out and the ground and picked up her trident. And as an act of respect, he bathed her in her own flames, sending her out the right way. He laid the trident down beside her, and left the room.

As he walked back over the dusty plain, he looked back at the power station. He thought about U-Genetics and how much they'd screwed up… how much damage they caused… Jordan began to wonder if he was turning into them…


	19. Rank 17: Damian Jazzhands

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 17: Damian Jazzhands

Jordan remained doubtful all throughout his journey home. He had no money for a cab and he doubted Melissa would come pick him up, so walking was his only option. He wandered the streets, his clothes damp with sweat clinging to his back. He could still feel the heat of the flames his last opponent had used. It was daunting to say the least. Eventually, he got back to his home and jumped in the shower, feeling tons better as the cool icy water ran down his back. When he was out, he looked at the clock. 7 PM it said. 7 PM…why did that stick out to him for some reason?

Then it clicked. Vespia would be coming over any moment now. Jordan panicked and found some clean clothes to slip into. He was halfway into his shirt when he heard someone knock.

"Gimme a sec!" he shouted, quickly tying up his laces and running to the door. He swung open and there she was, with a smile on her face as always. Her outfit consisted of a Red jacket, covering a white shirt and some plain old jeans. The blue bottle necklace was still around her neck.

"You look flustered." She remarked and Jordan could feel his brow becoming hot.

"Yeah I just…just got back."

"From a rank fight?"

"Yup…Rank 18." Vespia's eyes widened.

"Wow…you're advancing fast! You'll be number 1 before you know it." She complimented, making Jordan's worries of becoming a monster melt into the back of his brain to be revisited at a later date. "So, you still good for tonight?"

"Sure, let's go!" And with that, they left. Or rather, they would have if the phone hadn't rung. Jordan groaned and snatched it.

"Hello?"

"Hello Jordan. Your next fight has-" he slammed the phone down. He was in no mood to go out killing. He smiled at Vespia and left his room, locking the door.

Jordan could spot the club a mile away thanks to its grating neon visuals and pounding music that extended far outside of the club. It was called "Volume." How fitting, he thought. There were two bouncers, two solid men wearing black shirts, sunglasses and knitted caps. They reminded Jordan of Bulldogs, waiting to be let loose. All you had to do was give them a reason and they'd bite your heads off. At least, that's what Jordan assumed anyway, they looked the type. As they approached, one of them stopped Vespia.

"Identity." He stated flatly.

"Oh come on Boris, you know its me." She teased.

"Identity." He repeated. Vespia sighed and took out a card, supposedly her pass or whatever. Boris nodded and they moved aside so Vespia could pass. But they stepped back once Jordan tried to move in.

"Identity." The other one said. Jordan fumbled for a moment before Vespia came to his rescue.

"He's with me fella's. Let him through." They glared at him, then stepped aside. Jordan passed by sheepishly. As he entered the big double doors, the music hit him full blast, pounding his eardrums. The whole club was basically on giant dance floor, thronging with people and glowing with lit squares from the floor. Off to the left, Jordan spotted a bar, tended to by some poor barkeep who wasn't having much fun listening to the music. At the other end of the room, Jordan spotted the DJ. He wore a checked shirt, had brown matted hair and some stubble around his chin and had a massive set of headphones covering his ears. He also had a little plastic rectangle hanging from a chain around his neck. He was rubbing the records and nodding his head in time with the music. His sound system was well lit up too, having small spotlights and lasers that darted and flashed around the club, and two giant speakers sitting on either side. Jordan felt Vespia pull him toward the bar, through the surging crowd.

"Two Smirnoff's please!" she shouted to the barkeep, hoping he could hear. He nodded and passed them two bottles of a strange white liquid. Vespia sipped hers and encouraged him to. Jordan looked at the concoction…something about it smelled funny… but he digressed, and took a sip.

The alcohol slowly began to take effect as the night went on. Jordan began to feel happier and even tried dancing a bit, despite the fact that he failed epically. But he didn't care. He was on top of the world…nothing could stop him.

"Ladies and Gents!" announced the DJ, holding a microphone now. "Can you all, please, clear the dance floor!" Jordan looked around confusedly, as everyone was moving off the dance floor. He was about to follow when suddenly the DJ stopped him.

"Except for you Mr Argo!" he announced. Jordan turned and raised an eyebrow.

"What…what's all this about?"

"It's tie you stopped dancing, and started fighting!" he replied. The words rung clear in Jordan's head and snapped him out of his happy mood.

"Fight? You don't mean…"

"That's right!" he yelled. Suddenly, three huge transparent walls rose up around the dance floor, separating him from everyone else. Then the DJ's podium elevated, taking him up, close to the ceiling. Then, he spotted two massive screens outside their 'arena'. The screens has another VS on it. "Jordan Argo vs. Damian Jazzhands." It read. Jordan groaned. He'd walked right into a ranked fight, and he was unarmed.

"You got some nerve Jordan. Walking into my club like you own the place, not even bothering to come chat to your opponent." The DJ taunted.

"Fuck you, I didn't even know this would happen! I just wanted a night out!" he shouted back.

"Well maybe you should've listened to Melissa then." He retorted. Jordan could almost see her, grinning as she watched them, like a cat with a mouse.

"I don't even have a weapon!"

"Just makes the kill easier for me!"

"Fuck you!" Jordan felt helpless. He was alone with a killer, unarmed, and not ready to fight. Thing's couldn't have looked worse. But those thoughts changed once the DJ changed songs and his sound system began to transform. The covers on the speakers lifted off, revealing two small missile launchers hidden inside of them. The spotlights became even brighter, looking like they could blind a person. And the lasers…one of them passed by Jordan's feet, and he could feel the heat as it left a scorch mark on the ground. The DJ grinned and cranked up the volume. Jordan gulped. He had to find something he could use and fast. He spotted a bar stool that was on the dance floor for some reason. It'd have to do.

He was about to move toward it, when he saw smoke explode from the left speaker and a missile flew out, heading in his direction. Jordan had never tangled with missiles before, but he had a plan. He put his back to the wall and waited until the missile was close. Then he leapt to the left and the missile exploded against the wall, the explosion sending him flying. He landed with a thud and quickly got back up, just in time to see another missile heading his way. He did his little manoeuvre again, which saved his life but sent him flying again. He got back up and grabbed the stool before he would be under fire again. Now the DJ was using the spotlights, trying to blind him. Jordan ducked and weaved to avoid them, getting close to the elevated stage. He spotted two small machines either side of it, presumably used for lifting the stage up. That was a good place to start.

He brought the stool up and smashed down at the machine, hitting it repeatedly. He heard it spark and fizz, but then he felt a strong burning heat near his head. He looked up, spotted the laser, yelped, and then leaped back as fast as her could, the laser boring in the stage. He looked back up and saw the DJ, messing with the records again, seemingly more focused on his music than the fight. But then two more missiles shot out at Jordan and he changed his mind. He used his little manoeuvre to avoid exploding again, but the DJ was catching on by now. So this time, he fired a total of six missiles at him. A simple roll dodge wouldn't do it this time. He had only one option. He grabbed the bar stool again and chucked it at the missiles. The whole lot exploded, taking his only weapon away for good. Jordan was petrified. He'd never realised how powerless he was without Singing Death in his hands. Then again, more or less everyone would be powerless against someone who could shoot lasers, missiles and use spotlights.

"Now let's end this!" the DJ bellowed, cranking up the volume again and readying his lasers. But Jordan had another thought. He looked back over to the damaged machines, keeping the stage up. He made a dash for it as the lasers licked at his heels. He made it just in time, and turned to watch the lasers get closer. At the last second, he leapt to the left and the laser cut the machine in two. And with that, the stage plummeted, bringing the DJ back down to earth. And Jordan was there, ready for a little vengeance. He tackled the man out of his seat before he could use his sound system again and punched him in the face. The DJ tried to push him off to little avail as Jordan kept punching his face, out of rage for their unfair fight. But the DJ managed to finally get him off and rushed over to his sound system, to try and salvage the situation. But Jordan had his own plan. As the DJ fumbled with the controls, Jordan moved behind one of the enormous speakers and pushed it, slowly sending it falling down upon the DJ. He looked up in horror as the speaker came crashing down and only managed to let out a yelp before he was crushed.

DAMIAN JAZZHANDS

DEAD

Jordan stooped over, panting from exhaustion. The thick glass around the dance floor lifted, but the crowds began making their way out. Jordan wondered why…but he didn't care. He'd survived. And he'd never felt better. It also helped that Vespia walked back over to him with a seductive little smile on her face.

"Jordan…that was impressive. Few assassins can cope well without their weapon."

"I DIDN'T cope well Ves… I barely survived."

"Aww c'mon." she put an arm round him. "You're alive. That's what matters." And she planted a kiss on his cheek. Jordan's worries melted on the spot. "How about we go back to mine for a little quality time?" she teased. Jordan's heart skipped a beat.

"Hell yeah!" he shouted, the effects of the alcohol returning. Vespia giggled and ushered him out of the club, as the bouncers came back in to clear up the mess of their former employer.


	20. Interlude: Come closer

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Interlude: Come closer...

Jordan had a goofy grin on his face all the way back to Vespia's. Partially due to drunkeness. Partially due to being tired. But mostly due to Vespia's little promise. Her promise of "quality time." That got him excited, like a dog spotting a cat minding its own business in the park. This was the closest he'd ever gotten to a female relationship, hell, to any kind of relationship. And he was going to seize this opportunity while he had the chance. He hiccupped and stumbled a few times until they came upon a wooden door. The number was marked "43" and there was a striped tie tied around the brass door handle. Jordan raised an eyebrow and looked at Vespia.

"It just mean's my roommates out. Lucky for us hm?" she smiled at him and he nodded wildly, again like a dog. She took out a key, unlocked the door and swung it wide open. The apartment inside was vastly different to Jordan's. It was clean for a start. It was bigger than his apartment too. The room he was in looked like a sitting room, complete with a plush sofa and big soft chairs. There was a rug between them both and a little table atop it, adorned with some home-made coasters, clearly not Vespia's handiwork, due to the initials that featured on each one. He could see three doors on the left, right and back walls, each one respectively marked "Kitchen" ,"Bathroom" and "Bedroom." Jordan wondered briefly if Vespia and her roommate slept together…he felt his heart sink a few inches in his chest until Vespia confirmed "Don't worry. She probably won't be back for ages." Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. Now just hoping that Vespia was straight, he was in!

"Fancy a cuppa?" Vespia asked him. Jordan had to admit, the thought of tea before this kind of fun seemed odd, but he did need something to bring him off the edge of the alcohol. He nodded in reply and Vespia walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Jordan took a seat, sinking into her plush sofa like it was made of quicksand. He twiddled his fingers as he waited for her, looking around her apartment. He wondered how much she paid in terms of rent. Must be a lot for this place. Not to mention the price of the furniture. He wondered if she'd paid for all this thanks to the money from her position as an assassin. Jordan couldn't help but shudder slightly from the thought. Then she returned holding two steaming, well used, china mugs. She set one in front of Jordan and sat opposite him.

"So Jordan…tell me about you." She said with another of her charming smiles. "We've been seeing each other but I barely know anything about you." That was true. It had to have been a few weeks now and they barely knew anything about each other. Weird really, he thought.

"Well…where do I start?" he chuckled nervously, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Just start with what you like." She advised. He nodded and thought quickly.

"Well… I like pizza." Vespia chuckled at this. Jordan hoped it wasn't because she thought that was stupid. "And…well I guess fighting."

"An assassin who likes fighting?" she teased. "Who would've thought?" Jordan wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. He scratched an itchy spot on the back of his head.

"I've been too busy with my old job to really have any hobbies…" he admitted.

"And what was your old job?" she questioned.

"It was… as a "

"Oh. Kind of weird for you to go from that to killing people for a living." He shrugged.

"I guess. But I seem to be doing ok."

"More than ok." She corrected, sipping at her tea. "From what I hear, you're already at rank 18. In the short space of a few weeks. That's pretty good for a newbie." Jordan felt invigorated by her words. Maybe even…confident.

"Well I guess I've been ok…" he tried to remain humble, though it pained him not to boast.

"It's surprising actually. If I'm not wrong, you've never actually killed someone before your first fight. So, what made you do it?" This took him by surprise. He thought back to his first match against the blonde card shark. Maybe it was jealousy that first compelled him. He'd seen Jack with all that money and attention. It could've been that. Then again, maybe it was just the thought of Vespia… he couldn't pin it down at first.

Then it struck him. A memory of the past of a blonde boy becoming his personal nightmare. He thought back to his high school years. A bully by the name of Morris Vaughn had made his life a living hell. He'd beaten him, tormented him and done all in his power to make his life hell, for the sake of making his life hell. The last straw was the drug incident that he was kicked out of high school for. He remembered leaving for the last time, and seeing Morris grinning from ear to ear, flipping him off. That was why…he could see it now. He'd seen that grinning blonde bastard in the other grinning blonde bastard. That was what made him kill Jack. And from then on, it just got easier and easier…

"No idea really." He lied to Vespia, taking a slurp of tea. She raised an eyebrow, but decided not to question it.

"Hang on, let me get this jacket off." She did as she said, slipping it off and revealing her short sleeve shirt underneath…and the gun tucked inside of her jacket pocket. Jordan nearly dropped his cup. Vespia looked at him quizzically, then followed his stare to her weapon and a look of realisation swept across her face. "Oh don't worry about that Jordan. I just keep it with me in case I get attacked." Jordan nodded dumbly, but it set off a new train of thought. He remembered the first day he'd met her. She'd shot that guy and he'd fallen to bits. He wanted to know more about that.

"Ves?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember that day in the bar?"

"…yeah?"

"When you shot that guy. How did you make him fall apart like that?" Vespia's brow furrowed slightly.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I've just never thought of it til now." He admitted. She nodded and took hold of the firearm, laying it out on the table before her. It looked normal enough, simple magnum pistol. The only real different between it and any other pistol was it's barrel was slightly longer than a normal magnum, and there was a strange fire emblem on the handle. She removed the ammo clip from the handle and took out one bullet in particular. It looked normal too, except for the red cap it had. "Inside this bullet is an incredibly complex system of tiny, almost invisible wires. When I fire this bullet, it spreads out these wires as a massive net. Since they're fired so quickly and are so thin and sharp, they can literally dice a person in seconds." Jordan raised his eyebrows. That did make sense, but he'd never suspected it. He'd never even seen the wires at all, just the man with the gun being sliced to bits.

"That's pretty cool…"

"Yeah I guess. I prefer these ones though." She picked up a small black bullet. "The guy who made these calls them 'Hellfire' specifically because they'll set fibre on fire if it hits some. So you can shoot a hole in someone and catch them alight. " she seemed boastful about it, but Jordan had to admit that the idea sounded pretty cool. She quickly reassembled the clip and slotted it back in, quick as a flash. She then smiled at Jordan. "What're we doing talking about guns anyway?" she smiled seductively and got up, deciding to sit next to him. Jordan returned a smile, but it was nowhere near as sweet as hers.

"Come closer…" she whispered to him. Jordan nodded dumbly, moving closer to her. They drew so close, so very close…and then…she kissed him.

It wasn't a fleeting kiss like last time. This was a full kiss, on the lips. A lasting connection. Jordan felt hotter than before as they shared the moment. He honestly hoped it would never end.

But then it did. The power suddenly went out, leaving the room dark as a starless night sky. Jordan couldn't see anything. Not even Vespia in front of him.

"Jordan?" he heard her say.

"Yes?"

"I think someone's cut the power…"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I can hear footsteps nearby."

"Oh…crap." Jordan drew Singing Death as a precaution and got to his feet. He kept still however. Partially because he didn't want to alert the intruder. Partially because he was afraid he'd trip over something. Partially because he was scared stiff at this point. He heard a click to his left and he spun to face it. He couldn't see anything so it was a pointless move. "Ves? You still there?"

"Yes… I'm trying to find a torch." He could hear her rummaging around underneath the sofa they had once been sitting on. He turned, trying to spot anything in the darkness. Anything. Anything at all. That's when it caught his eye. A glint. Just a small glint of light, reflecting off a piece of metal from near the closed window…well, it had been closed when they came in.

Jordan heard her footsteps. He spotted her silhouette in the darkness, leaping at him, ready to strike down with that deadly sharp blade in her hand. He threw himself to the left, just as her blade came down, puncturing the chair fabric and missing him by far as he fell to the other side of the table. He got up quickly and attempted to slash the mysterious assailant, but she'd already pulled back, leaving her knife embedded to the hilt in the chair. She drew another one from somewhere around her midsection and made another lunge at him. This time, Jordan brought Singing Death up to defend and kicked her in the stomach. He watched her silhouette hit the wall behind her. Then the light came on. Vespia had found a torch and was shining it right on the assassin. Jordan recognised her now. Dressed in black, wearing body armour, knives and small capsules in her belt, chest pushing out from it all. The girl who'd attacked him before.

"Wait…aren't you…" began Vespia. Upon hearing her voice, the mysterious girl's eyes widened and she made a quick leap through the window. Jordan ran to it, hoping to catch her…but she was gone. Vanished into thin air, just like before. He cursed and looked around. No trace. Completely gone.

"Damnit…she got away again!"

"Again?" Vespia questioned, joining him at the window. "You mean she's attacked you before?"

"Yeah…once in my apartment. Out of nowhere." Vespia seemed to think about this for a little while. Jordan raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm pretty sure that girl is in the leagues…"

"What? Seriously?"

"Yes…seems she's trying to take out the competition before it gets to her. I'll have to tell Melissa about this." She concluded, then hugging Jordan quickly, much to his surprise. "I'm sorry this happened… guess you'd better go now."

Jordan nodded reluctantly. The effect of the alcohol was already long gone; it was time for him to get some sleep. He headed for the door, turning back for a second to look at Vespia, just to say

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight Jordan." And with that, he set off for his apartment.

He slept soundly that night. The exhaustion of his battle with the DJ and then the attack from that girl…it had worn him out. That didn't matter much now that he was asleep.


	21. Rank 16: Keith Oreton

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 16: Keith Oreton

This time, it was the ringing of his phone that roused him from his dreams. Its sharp tone cutting him out of sleep like a knife...like an assassins knife. He tried not to think like that and answered.

"Hello?"

"Good morning Jordan." came the chilly voice of Melissa. Jordan shuddered.

"What?"

"Your next match is set for tonight. Head to Spike Spooler's gym at 10 PM." That was new, he thought. He'd heard that place was famous for boxing matches. He'd even seen posters for some matches around the city. He smiled a little. If he was going to be fighting a boxer, this would be his easiest match yet. Maybe he'd have it easy for now.

"Alright, i'll be there." she paused momentarily. "By the way, Vespia told me about the incident from last night."

"She...did?" No surprised there, since Ves had mentioned it the night before. "And what do you plan to do about it?" There was another momentary pause.

"Nothing." Jordan's retinas widened.

"What do you mean nothing?" the rage was rising in his voice.

"You heard me Jordan. Absoloutley nothing." She stretched out the o in nothing. She was mocking him. He was losing his temper fast.

"What the fuck do you mean nothing?" he screamed into the reciever.

"Calm down Jordan." Somehow, her voice had become a few degree's colder than normal. It was enough to silence him, but not enough to cool the boiling blood in his veins. "I've searched this girl in the rankins. She is a mere few ranks above you Jordan. Therefore, why should I do something when you can have the pleasure yourself." Jordan blinked. He let out a long sigh. She'd lead him on. Perfectly at that. Getting him worked up just to make him feel stupid. Another little game he now knew Melissa loved to play. "Good luck tonight. Oh, and take the back entrance." she finished, hanging up. Jordan's good mood was obliterated in seconds.

By the time Jordan was at the gym, it was already 10PM. The half moon was rising in a pitch black, starless sky. The gym was only lit by the small lamps around the front door. There was a big blue sign above it saying "Spike Spooler's gym." Next to the sign was a mugshot of Spike Spooler himself, but Jordan didn't bother to get a good look at it now. He strode right past the front entrance and round the back of the large, brick building, casting gloomy shadows in a street lit only by flickering streetlights. The back door entrance was in a small alleyway next to the building next door. There were two large stained dumpsters obstructing the path up the alley. He shimmied his way past them, toward a large grubby door, lit only by an overhead light that flickered continuously. He noticed a poster on it, it looked new too. On it, he could see a picture of a boxer. A limber man, wearing a red helmet and red gloves decorated with the letters K and O, one on each glove respectively, in gold. He read the bold title at the top of the poster.

"See the champ crush the newcomer!" it screamed at him. He frowned. Nice to see people were so certain he'd lose. He sighed and seized the handle , twisting it and opening the door into a long narrow corridoor. He went inside, closing the door behind him with an ominous creak.

As he traversed the long corridoor, he became aware of loud noises ahead of him. Not just one loud noise...lots of them. All coming from up ahead. He continued down the corridor, one hand on the handle of Singing Death, ready for some surprise attack. He'd put nothing past the assassin he was facing, now after what he'd been through already, his mind thought back to the previous night. At the end of the corridor, he came across a set of double doors. The loud noises were coming from behind it. Without further ado, he swung the doors open.

He was almost instantly greeted by a rush of noise, blasting his ears. He recognised the sound now. It was a crowd, cheering. Cheering for him maybe? He stepped through the doors and took in the scene before him. There was a large boxing ring in front of him, red white and blue ropes circling the ring. He was facing a corner, and on each side there was a series of benches, where the fans sat and cheered. He drew closer to the ring, looking around him. The ceiling was fairly low, and the only lighting was focused on the ring. Four massive halogen lamps above them, illuminating the now pristine white square, soon to be contaminated.

As Jordan came closer, a man in a white vest and blue shirts ran up to him and quickly ushered him into the ring, clutching a water bottle in his left hand. He was bald, had a serious expression on his face and massive brown eyebrows, almost to the level of cartoony. He sat Jordan down in a tiny stool in the blue corner of the ring and started yammering into his ear.

"Now listen here, you need to go 1 2 on this guy. Straight 1 2 you hear, or he'll knock you down like a freight train, try and get some uppercuts in too, and keep those hands up! And-"

"Thanks but, I got a better way of fighting." Jordan cut him off, drawing Singing Death. The coach glared at him, but stopped when Jordan cocked an eyebrow at him, and pointed the deadly blade in his direction.

A few moments later, Jordan spotted another guy entering the ring. It was the guy he'd seen on the poser. He was wearing that red helmet again, and red shorts with a bright white hem. He had red boots on as well, and those massive K O gloves clad on his hands. He also wore a cocky smile on his face. Fox a boxer, the guy was pretty short. He wasn't particularly muscular either, maybe even thin. He looked jittery as well, like he was itchy. He clambered into the ring and sat opposite Jordan, staring him down with that cocky smile. Then, an announcer stepped into the ring, dressed in a classic black suit with a class black bowtie. He also wore sunglasses, and carried a wireless microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he announced as the crowd roared in excitement for the upcoming bloodbath. "Presenting, our challenger today! Jordaaaan Argo!" he pointed in Jordan's direction. There was scattered cheering in the crowd, over powered by a cacophony of boos and insults. He was the challenger. No wonder he was unpopular. He frowned a little from all the negative attention, before the announcer required the crowd's attention. "And now, presenting our reigning middle weight champion! The Prince of Punches! The Master of Melee combat! The K.O King himself, Keeeeeeith Oreton!" And his opponent stood up, throwing out his arms as the crowd applauded and cheered. That smug grin on his face grew even wider. Jordan growled, feeling a tad jealous of his opponents popularity. The announcer beckoned him over to the centre of the ring. He stood opposite Keith, staring into his whites.

"Now, I want a good clean fight boys. Shake hands." The announcer told them. They both obliged, shaking with their left hands, Keith slipping his glove off before he could. It was back on when they were done, and the announcer slipped out of the ring. A bell went off. The battle had begun.

Jordan thought this would be easy. It was his sword versus a guy's fists. Easy pickings, surely. He slashed at his opponent vertically. However, he hadn't counted on Keith's speed. The limber man easily dodged his attack, and socked him in the left cheek. Jordan felt like he'd been hit with a block of iron. He heard a loud click coming from his jaw. That one attack sent him reeling, as he clutched his bleeding jaw. Keith drew close and performed an uppercut, flicking Jordan's head up quickly and sending him flying onto his back. He felt nauseous as the blood left his system. Just two hits and he was already down. He could hear the announcer counting him down off to the side. Slowly, Jordan rose to his feet and fixed his gaze on Keith. He'd already paid for his presumptions. He wasn't going to let it happen again.

Keith led this time with a quick right straight. Jordan managed to block with Singing Death and tried to counter stab the nimble boxer. But the boxer dodged to the side at the last second and tried to sock Jordan in the face. This time however, Jordan ducked under the swinging punch and slashed at the man's waist. The blades tip created a long scratch across the boxer's stomach and he backed off as some tears of blood ran down his skin. The boxer drew in a sharp breath and backed off. Jordan moved in for another attack, but a swift punch to the gut sent him reeling, breath blasting out of his lungs and spittle flying from his lips. The strength of this guy was just unbelievable, especially for someone his size. He barely dodged another shot to his ribs, Jordan straightened up and prepared for more incoming fire.

Keith made a right straight to his face, Jordan ducked to the left. Then Keith punched at the left. and he dodged to the right. Jordan tried to use the moment to strike with Singing Death, but Keith ducked it, and gave a quick uppercut. A soloution of blood and spittle sprayed from Jordan's lips as the fist connected with his chin. He stumbled back, clutching his chin, blood spewing from his lips. Keith grinned and was about to slam him in the face again when the bell went. He flinched and went back to his corner, the man in the vest splashing water at his face. Jordan hobbled over to his corner and sat, crouched, head hanging and blood dripping down onto the white mat. The momentary peace was a godsend for him. His ears were ringing, his brain was thumping and he felt like hell. He grabbed the waterbottle next to him and swigged it, then splashing some on his face. He looked over to his smug opponent. He had no idea how this scrawny man could punch like this. There had to be some trick...

The bell went again. They moved back into the ring, Keith still looking strong and Jordan looking ready to take a nap. But he straightened up and redied Singing Death again. He wasn't going down here. Keith struck first, delivering a punch to Jordan's stomach, but Jordan stepped back and made a slash to his face. And Keith, incredibly, grabbed Jordan's blade mid swing. Jordan's eyes widened like saucers. Keith grinned like a maniac. With his blade in hand, Keith punched him in the stomach. And again. And again. Jordan was forced to let go of Singing Death, and Keith seized his opportunity to let loose. Jordan felt the blows rain on him. Two on his chest, one in his face and then, he reeled his fist back for one big blow.

"Knockout Knuckle!" he shouted, the crowd went wild, and his fist smacked into Jordan's face. He felt his nose crack, his head ache, and he flew back, landing flat on his back. He could barely see. Reality was fading in and out. Jordan was sure he was going to black out. Or die. Keith was showboating, flexing to the crowd, shouting out something Jordan couldn't make out. What he did hear was the main in the suit counting him down. Jordan felt sapped. His energy was gone. But Keith had yet to break his will. He slowly got back up. He could feel the blood pouring down his face from his broken nose. He gritted his teeth. He regained his conciousness. Keith was still showboating. Jordan seized his opportunity. He snatched Singing death and charged at Keith. The boxer realised what was going on, but fat too late as Jordan slashed at him. A long red scar appeared on Keiths back. The boxer cried out in pain and spun round to face Jordan. He struck out at Jordan's face, but Jordan had had enough. He spun his blade so the edge faced his opponent, and Keith punched straight into the edge. Keith screamed in pain as the blade sliced through the glove and connected with his hand. Jordan smiled. This battle was about to swing his way.

No matter what move Keith made next, Jordan was one step ahead. Every punch met with metal, every slash carved a new red line into the boxer's exposed flesh. Jordan felt energy surging through him, watching that mysterious aurora surround his blade. He knew there was only one was this battle would end now. Jordan pinned him into the corner and made one final slash towards his neck. But Keith threw a sucker punch as the blade was raised, knocking Jordan back. He came back on the offence, two punches to the chest, one to the face. He drew his fist back again, readying his "special" move.

"Knockout Knuckle!" he shouted and his fist rocketed toward Jordan. But Jordan was having none of it now. As the fist soared toward him, he ducked and swerved to the left, keeping Singing Death low, and in one swift move, he severed the man's arm clean off. Blood spurted from the wound as Keith screamed in pain. His cocky smile was long gone and an expression of anguish and pain now replaced it. He clutched his spurting wound, all evidence of confidence gone. The crowd were deathly silent. Jordan looked down. He looked at the man on his knee's, holding what was left of his arm. Jordan decided to put him out of his misery and please the crowd at the same time. He stabbed Keith in the stomach, pointing the blade towards the ceiling, and slicing all the way up, through the boxer's torso and then through his head, the two halves of his torso falling apart and a shower of blood spraying skyward.

**KEITH ORETON**

**DEAD **

Jordan rose and looked out at the crowd. The kill had driven them mad. Most of them were cheering for him. Some were shouting at the loss of their champion. But the majority was positive. And he was pleased with that. The announcer stepped in and raised his hand

"And the challenger, Jordan Argo takes the match!" There was another uproar as the cheers overpowered the boo's and the crowd were on their feet. Jordan smiled a little. The attention felt great...he felt popular...he felt...light headed. He remembered falling to the floor of the boxing ring. He felt the blood from Keith splashing over his face. But he didn't remember the moment when he fell unconcious.


	22. Rank 15: Stripes

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 15: Stripes

Jordan was unconscious for three hours total. He'd lost a lot of blood from the fight and was suffering from a minor concussion. Luckily for him, someone was at the ring to help get him to a hospital. When he finally came to, he was in a hospital room. All white again… it made his lip curl. He had that same cute nurse, whom he noticed sighed when she spotted him. He grinned cheekily. This might just be fun. He spent roughly three days teasing and being slapped before he had any change in his hospital regime.

He hadn't expected visitors. Especially not one's like Melissa of all people. She swept into the room wearing a large winter coat, and carrying what looked like a box of chocolates under her arm. Two of her white knights followed in behind her, still looking as alien as ever. Jordan raised an eyebrow as she entered? Could it be possible she cared about him?

"You're looking better Jordan." She began.

"Well thanks...not like I know what happened after the fight."

"You lost conciousnes-"

"I figured that out thanks." He cut in.

"Let me finish. I was at the ring as well. I took the money you made from betting and had you driven her-"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Jordan interrupted again. "Money? I made money from that fight? Someone actually bet on me?"

"Yes." She said sternly. "I did." Now that was a shock. Maybe Melissa did care if she trusted him to win that much…

"Now, I'm here to tell you about your next match." Jordan rolled his eyes. Typical. He shouldn't have expected any less from this ice queen. He sat up a little and prepared to listen.

"Your target expects you in warehouse 4, over in the industrial sector by 5PM today Jordan. Don't be late again."

"What do you mean again?"

"You were late for the boxing match."

"Oh…" he hadn't realised. No clocks around and his phone was dead. "So, what's in that box?"

"Chocolate." She said simply. Jordan's eyes widened. "For me. I felt like treating myself today." His face fell again. Of course she did. Deliberate tease that she was…

Jordan was able to leave the hospital a mere 3 hours later, after being forced to clean up the chocolate crumbs that Melissa left behind, much to the satisfaction of that irritable nurse. He looked at the sky. The sun was still high up, probably mid day. That gave him some time to get over to the warehouse Melissa had mentioned. He dug his hands into his pockets and set off onto the busy streets, mingling into the crowd and paving a way for himself. Soon he found himself heading towards the towering machines of the industrial sector. This place had been recently built thanks to a boost in the economy. More jobs could be found here and the machines and plants were maintained constantly. There were some other buildings being erected as the workers swarmed over the scaffolding like flies around a stack of sugar cubes. Jordan tried to ignore the humming, whirring, clanking mechanisms around him and headed toward the abandoned warehouses. These ones were the oldest part of the sector, originally used for storing car parts, before they'd tried moving it closer to the company. And that hadn't gone well. It made him think back to his battle with Dreadlocks…

He approached the door of the warehouse, swinging it open quickly. The place looked rather crowded. Around the walls lay discarded crates, wrenches, components and other useless things. The central part of the warehouse was fairly clean. And his opponent stood there, waiting for him.

He was wearing an oddly orange suit, with black stripes on either side of the centre line. The collar was white, as were the cuffs, and his trousers were black. His hair was black too, slicked back over his head. Between his slightly grinning teeth, a fat smoking cigar was perched.

"About time you got here amigo." He began, a slight Mexican accent detectable in his words.

"I just got out of hospital man, give me a break." Jordan groaned. The man shot him a sympathetic look.

"It's hard work this business, eh?"

"Yeah, no kidding…I think I lost some teeth in my last fight." The suited man chuckled.

"Well, how about we just get this over with then amigo?" he offered, whipping out two silver magnums from behind his back. Jordan nodded and drew Singing Death, holding it in both hands.

"Best idea I've heard all day." He grinned slightly. This might even be a fun match.

However, those thoughts disappeared when he noticed the black shadow descending from the darkened ceiling, held by some kind of rope. It descended behind the man in the suit, and in one swift movement, it severed his head from his shoulders in a flash of silver blades. The head soared into the air and landed beside the body, as it toppled over and spilled blood onto the once clean floor. Jordan went pale. He looked at the shadow…now that he could see it better, it looked familiar…it was a person…dressed in black body armour from head to toe, two daggers in hand and a mask covering the face…it was unmistakable. It was her.

"There. That should make things easier to finally get rid of you."

"Ok, are you gonna tell me who the fuck you are now?" he shouted, knuckles tightening round his blade. The female ninja chuckled.

"Anya Sasuri if it means that much." She grinned like a cunning cat, flicking her knives around in her hands. "I may have failed twice Jordan, but third time's the charm."

"Sure sure, just don't go running off this time!" he charged at her, Singing Death raised. Anya grinned…and the rope winched her back up toward the ceiling. She vanished into the darkness above. Jordan swore to himself…she had the advantage now. He couldn't see the ceiling for shit. And as he well knew, this girl was used to fighting her opponents from the shadows. Jordan advanced slowly, clutching his trusty blade, ready for any sudden attacks. He kept looking around, checking for any signs of the stealthy assassin. Everything around him seemed so still…even the blood spewing corpse.

Suddenly, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Something shiny. Something spinning. Something deadly. He jumped out of the path of the spinning shuriken as it hit the wall, embedding into it. Jordan got back up, just as another whirling star hit the ground, right where he'd fallen. He looked up, spotting where the shadowy attacker lurked, as she tossed another bladed star. He ran at her, dodging more flung shurikens, keeping his blade ready. Just as he about to strike her, she was gone again, slinking back up into the shadows.

"Fuck! Come down and fight me!" he shouted at the darkness. He got no reply. He did however get a small knife thrown at him, which he barely avoided in time. He looked around him again, searching from where the knife had been flung. No sign. He felt so alone in that massive warehouse…but knowing there was a killer in with him, didn't help. He kept advancing along the warehouse floor, waiting for her next strike. He heard a rope twang behind him, and he turned in time to watch the shadowy assassin drop down and hurl two more throwing knives at him. Jordan managed to roll under them, getting up and charging at her. But before he was even close, she was heading back up, vanishing into the shadows. He couldn't keep fighting her like this. She had the advantage, and it wouldn't be long before he faltered. He needed a new tactic…

Then it struck him. The rope. That rope was allowing her to get back up into the safety of the darkness before he could strike. If he could cut that somehow, she'd be forced to fight on the ground. He bent over and quickly picked up one of the throwing knives. No sense throwing Singing death after all. Now all he needed was a chance…

Just as he began to put his plan together, the dark assassin dropped down behind him and was just about to slice through his throat with her daggers. Jordan heard a faint breathing…and ducked just in time, breathing a brief sigh of relief as the daggers missed him. He took his chance and stabbed her in the chest with the throwing knife he'd picked up. She looked shocked for a moment…then she kicked him away and plucked the knife from her chest. The body armour had saved her. The indent was clear though. Jordan grimaced upon realising her armours strength. She was heading back up again. Jordan decided not to pursue her this time, and grabbed another knife from the ground. He'd get it right this time…he had to.

He turned and hurled the knife as she winched down again, two shurikens in hand. The knife spun through the air…and cut straight through the rope. Jordan thanked his lucky stars as the stealthy ninja plummeted to the ground. Now he could turn the tables. He charged at her as she got back up, quickly slashing at her. She blocked just in time with one of her daggers, dropping her projectiles and drawing the other one. Jordan slashed away at her, trying to get a hit in and Anya did all she could to defend his wild and strong slashes. Suddenly, the tide turned again when Jordan put all his strength in a straight slash. Anya dodged to the left and returned the favour, slashing his arm. Jordan yelped and retreated slightly. Anya grinned at his pain and quickly dropped a smoke grenade. Her opponent coughed as the smoke filled the room, and she quickly leapt away, finding a good vantage point.

Jordan fumbled in the smoke, coughing and clutching his bleeding arm. He didn't know where he was or where his opponent was. He desperately tried to prepare for a sneak attack, but his arm was on fire with pain. His eyes were watering from the suffocating smoke. He could hear footsteps. The stealthy assassin would strike soon and it would all be over…

..no.

He wasn't going to let that happen. He'd survived two attempts she'd made on his life. And he was going to survive this one too. He focused his mind on the world around him, forgetting the pain, forgetting the smell, focusing only on around him.

He heard her footsteps. He was ready. She leapt out of the smoke, dagger poised to slit his throat. But Jordan ducked in time and sliced her in the stomach. This time, the blade went through the body armour. And all the rest of her too. Jordan closed his eyes as he heard the screaming behind him. He didn't bother looking. He knew it'd just give him nightmares. So, keeping his eyes closed, he turned and located her head. He spoke the last words she would hear.

"For a ninja, you aren't very quiet." And stabbed downward. The screaming was cut off abruptly, and Jordan curtly turned and headed for the exit, now that the smoke had cleared.

**ANYA SASURI**

**DEAD**

As he emerged from the warehouse, he took a deep breath, clearing the smoke from his lungs. Right on cue, a long black limousine pulled up next to the warehouse. Two of Melissa's men in white stepped out and headed into the warehouse. Melissa merely wound down the window.

"Impressive Jordan… you cut her down pretty quickly. You're already halfway through the ranks." What was this? An actual compliment? Could it really be? "Still, you could do better." Jordan sighed. There was the backhand he expected.

"So, any chance of you ever showing me some respect?" he asked, smirking slightly. Melissa ignored him.

"I'll call you tomorrow with your next match up. Goodbye." And with that the black tinted window rolled back up, and the limo drove away.

"At least give me a lift you bitch!" he called after her, half jokingly.


	23. Rank 13: Hammond Splinter

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 13: Hammond Splinter

Jordan groaned as he finally arrived home. It had been a long journey to get home. All that walking, at least 10 miles. It was fucking painful. Especially up those hills. His legs were throbbing with pain and he swore, as he flopped onto his bed, if he took another step, his leg bones would just shatter. He didn't remember when he blacked out and drifted into sleep. He never did. Who could? It was a cold dream that followed, one of emptiness and darkness, brought on from his exhaustion.

He was rudely awakened the next day by the irritating beeping of the fire alarm. That made him all the grumpier when he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. He wasn't going to put up with this crap this early, so he got up and decided to find whatever had started this fire and put it out. He followed the smell of smoke wafting up the stairs, down to one of the lower apartments... he heard a scream and the door flew open. A man ran out of it, screaming, his shirt alight with brilliant dancing flames as he ran outside. Jordan blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Needless to say, he was not. The scent of smoke drew his eyes towards the room...he spotted the burnt cigarette on the floor, leaving a small pile of ash and a trail of smoke wafting upwards into the grate of the fire alarm...

He heard the phone ringing back in his room and scrambled up the stairs to answer as the alarms stopped blaring at last. He snatched up the receiver, eager to give someone a good shouting at.

"Hello?"

"You're oddly angry this morning." Those chilling tones sizzled on his temper like water on coal, the rising steam balancing out his attitude and returning him to a calm...an impermanent calm, but calm nonetheless.

"Let me guess...another match?"

"Actually no. I was wondering if you'd like to share breakfast with me." Jordan's eyebrows shot up. This was unusual, even for Melissa. He felt cautious about this. There simply had to be a flipside to this. This couldn't be completely legitimate. "Come to Cafe Slam. There's plenty of signs so I'm sure even you can find it." There was that sarcasm he loathed...

"Alright, I'll be there." he accepted and put down the reciever before she could hang up on him. That was a small victory for him.

He threw on his shirt and jacket, yanked on some crumpled jeans and snatched up Singing Death before heading out. As he headed along the pavement, he spotted a sign strapped to a lamppost. It was bright red with some bold yellow words saying "Cafe Slam! A slam-dunk of awesome food!" he couldn't help but groan at it, and followed its directions along the street, eventually coming across the cafe. The massive red sign with enourmous yellow lettering was just as groan inducing as adverts were. As he entered through the automatic double doors, and looked around the room. There was a definite basketball motif in the wall decorations, signed posters and photos, clothes pinned on the walls and even a basketball barely held in what looked like a bowl attached to the wall. He spotted Melissa at a nearby table, noticing him as he drew close.

"There you are. Come sit down." she invited and Jordan obliged.

"So...why'd you invite me here?"

"Just for breakfast. That's all."

"Bullshit. Stuff like this is never so straightforward with you." Melissa pouted slightly.

"Jordan, that's abnormally mean for you." she teased. "I just thought you might like to have a breakfast that doesn't consist of leftovers and alcohol." Jordan's jaw dropped.

"How...how did you know..."

"Jordan, it's my business to know these things, you're really surprised?" Jordan shrugged. That did make sense in hindsight. Still, it spooked him how she knew. He picked up a small menu and scanned it quickly. Every option on the menu looked like it would reduce his life expectancy by a year. But who cared, he was an assassin, and their life expectancy wasn't exactly high at this point. "Know what you want yet?" Melissa hurried him.

"Yeah yeah...the...uh...Dunkin' Pancakes I guess..." he felt crappy just for saying the name. Even Melissa smiled at how ridiculous it sounded. And surprisingly, the order came fast too, the waiter bringing over a hot stack of pancakes covered in syrup. It made Jordan wonder briefly on whether this cafe was an American run place... But he just decided to get on with eating the pancakes. About halfway through the stack, Melissa spoke up.

"You do have a ranking match today though." Jordan slammed his fork on the table.

"I knew it! I knew there was something more to this!"

"Shut up or I'm not paying for this." she cut him down quickly. But that just made things sound better. Free breakfast was free breakfast, even if it was a bribe.

"Anyway, your opponent's waiting in the football stadium. Head over there when you're done eating." she informed him as he chomped on the pancakes. He frowned a little as he downed a mouthful of syrupy goodness. Before long, his place was clean and his stomach felt full...and his mind felt annoyed knowing he had another assassin to cut down. He pushed his plate away and stood up, frowning at Melissa. She smiled a little.

"Good luck Jordan." she commented. Jordan just sighed and left, feeling grumpy already.

A football match between two very high ranked teams had gone on over the weekend and the football stadium had yet to be cleaned. A fight had broken out between the football hooligans and the evidence had been left behind. The walls were lined with scuffs and cracks and there were even some small patches of blood. There were piles of rubbish strewn about too, blowing in the breeze. And as Jordan entered, there was a violent atmosphere to the place, lingering from the night before. He found his way onto the pitch and walked toward the centre line. From the opposite end of the pitch, someone approached. Two people at that.

One was dressed in a navy blue and white maid outfit, complete with short blonde hair and pale complexion. She was pushing a wheelchair unsteadily along the pitch, inhabited by the second individual, a man who looked in his 60's. He had black sideburns down to his cheeks, black hair that was slowly greying poking out from under his wide brimmed hat. His green eyes stared lustreless, no doubt from the passage of time. He too wore navy blue clothes, namely a suit zipped up at the front, accompanied with simple blue trousers. His wheelchair seemed off to Jordan, the hand rests were much thicker than usual and they extended down to the seat like the arms on an armchair. The wheels also had strange metal guards over them too.

The two met in the centre, and the maid let go of the wheelchair handles.

"Please, be cautious master." she said, bowing, and then turning and leaving the field again. Jordan felt awkward. Was he really going to have to fight an old man in a wheelchair? This felt wrong...

"Another callous youth stepping into shit he doesn't know about..." the old man rasped. Jordan's moralistic stance went right out the window.

"Wow, a bitter old man. Who would've fucking guessed?" The old man chuckled menacingly.

"As cliche as it may sound, youth like you don't have a fucking idea what they have."

"And what's that?"

"Freedom. You can still do whatever you fucking want without the restraints of an aged body or a spent life. And people like you waste it by entering contests like this, and shitting your life away through restriction." Jordan raised an eyebrow.

"Did you waste your youth then?" The old man went silent.

"That's beside the point. I'm going to show you why you've made the wrong choices in your short pathetic life." he snarled, hands moving to the sides of his arm rests. Jordan was clueless as to what he was doing...until he pressed two buttons and his wheelchair began to whirr and clank into life.

From the sides of the wheelchair, the armrests opened at the bottom and metal began to encase the chair, covering the old man's legs and torso. From behind, the top of a capsule flipped over and encased the old man's head and shoulders, a polycarbonate visor allowing him to see. The whole chair was now encased in metal, looking similar to a small tank, with the old man grinning inside it.

Jordan's mouth stood agape as he stared at his now fully armoured opponent. Were the assassins in the ranks just going to keep topping how incredible their weapons were as he got closer to the top? Regardless, he fumbled for Singing Death and managed to draw the sword, just as a large barrel extruded from the machine, pointing right at Jordan's head. It crackled and buzzed as Jordan saw a blue light inside it, charging up a blast. With a rather girly scream, he dove to his left and looked back in awe as the giant beam of bright blue light blasted into the stadium wall, creating a large hole. Jordan stared at it for a moment...and gulped.

The small tank turned on the spot, aiming that barrel at Jordan again. He was on his feet and running, getting further away from the tank, pure fear energising his actions as another beam of energy barely missed him. Even that disgruntled foreman's forklift truck was nothing compared to this, he thought. One shot from those beams and he'd be vaporised. Another blast just missed him as he flung himself to the right.

He knew he couldn't keep this dodging act up forever. He had to find some way to fight back. But how? He was fighting a fucking tank that was firing freaking laser beams! How was he supposed to fight that?

He dodged another beam and calmed his mind. Panicking wasn't going to help. He had to assess the situation. He took a good look at the tank. On two wheels, the thing had a good turning circle so it could always get an easy shot at him. However, it was obviously very heavy, so he doubted it was very fast. The visor looked like a weak spot, if he could slice through that, he'd be able to get the old man and end the fight. So he had to get in close. But how, with that laser going off all the time?

Another laser almost clipped his shoulder. Jordan looked at the new hole it had created...and spied an idea. The hole didn't stretch to the ground. Underneath it, there was a slight gap between the hole and the ground. A gap just big enough for him to avoid the laser with. He grinned. He was ready to strike back.

He ran toward the tank, watching the barrel glow with energy, throwing himself to the ground at the last second. The laser flew over his head. Jordan smiled even as he got a face full of turf. He'd found a way to fight back. He was back on his feet in an instant, charging at the tank, which he noted was backing up slightly even as it charged another attack. Jordan smiled, now that his theory that the tank was slow had been proved, he felt more confident. He dived to the turf again to avoid another laser, and then got up; now close enough to attack the tank. First, he slashed at the barrel that had menaced him, slicing off some of it, causing it to crackle and smoke waft up from it. Then he turned his attention on the visor, and brought his sword down. The polycarbonate held firm, but a mark was left, cutting the old man's glowering face in two. Jordan kept up his attack, hacking at the window, until the old man made his next move.

From the sides of where the arm rests once were, two more barrels extended out of the machine, both aiming for Jordan. He yelped and dove away as two smaller, but still deadly lasers zoomed past. Jordan groaned, now having more problems to deal with. The tank was allowed to back up a sizeable distance whilst Jordan was down, the lasers were now aiming directly at him, moving without the chair's assistance. Jordan rolled to the right to avoid two more laser blasts, and spied another opportunity. As the tank recharged, Jordan circled it, getting slowly closer, as the tank tried to keep up with him. The lasers couldn't fix on him and kept missing, giving him time to get close.

Swinging Death swung down, slicing off the next two barrels and then continuing to hack on the visor. He saw cracks splinter in the surface of the visor. It wouldn't be long before he broke through. Suddenly, the whole tank buzzed and sparked with energy. Jordan stopped his attack to wonder what was going on. And all of a sudden, a massive bubble of electricity appears around the tank and expanded, throwing Jordan back and into the wall. He yelled in pain as he felt some of his bones click from the impact, eventually flopping to the ground. He spat out a little blood, gritted his teeth and rose back to his feet, glaring at the tank. He was done fucking around now.

He felt mojo course through him as he approached. He didn't even care when three more barrels extruded from the tank, pointing right at him. He charged, sword raised, as the barrels charged up and prepared to fire. In a split second of them firing, Jordan somehow sidestepped just in time and the lasers flew past. They recharged and fired on him again, but he once again sidestepped in a millisecond. His mojo invigorated him as he drew close to the tank and brought his sword down on the visor, watching the polycarbonate crack and break apart. Inside, the old man was staring at him in awe of his strength... and a smile cracked on his wrinkled lips.

"Well...at least someone has spent their youth well." he admitted, just as Jordan's blade rammed into his chest, through his ribcage, and then into the power supply on the back, his blade still burning with blue energy. The entire tank began to burst with flowers of fire, plumes of smoke and sparks of electricity. Jordan withdrew Singing Death and sheathed it, turning on his heels and walking for the stadium entrance. He heard the escalation of fizzes and bangs behind him, until eventually, the entire thing exploded, a burst of fire and debris scorching his heels. He didn't look back. He hoped someone was watching.

**HAMMOND SPLINTER**

**DEAD **

Once he reached the tunnel out of the stadium, he saw a woman waiting in it, leaning on the wall, cigarette smouldering in her lips. She was blonde, but wearing a creased pink tank top and some jeans shorts that covered only the top of her thighs and barely anything above it, leaving her midriff exposed. She was looking out at the flower of flame erupting on the pitch.

"Heh...good death for the old geezer. " she smirked, grinding her cig into the concrete wall. Jordan raised an eyebrow.

"Weren't you his maid a second ago?" She shrugged.

"Pay was shit so it just means I can get a better job." Jordan considered questioning her further...but decided better and headed out. As he made it to the entrance, he saw the two guys in white heading in toward the stadium. As they got close, Jordan stopped them.

"I wouldn't bother guys. He exploded. There's not much left of him." The two guys in left looked at one another, and then back at Jordan.

"He's getting impatient Jordan." One of them said before they pushed past. Jordan stared as they went about their work.

Who was getting impatient?


	24. Rank 12: Mr Happy

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 12: Mr Happy

Jordan spent the next few days training with Dojo. He was a little sore after his last match but it was quite a wakeup call to him. He was getting close to the top of the ranks and from here on in, all his opponents would just get tougher and tougher. This meant he'd need to get tougher too. Tough enough to take them all down. And Dojo was the only person he knew capable of doing that. They sparred for hours, testing each other further and further as silver clanged against silver day after day. On the evening of the fourth day, they stopped for a break, and had some of Dojo's tea, it being the only thing drinking around here that wasn't alcoholic and Jordan cared little for wine. Too classy for him. Dojo fixed his gaze on him.

"You've been going through the ranks rather quickly ..." Jordan raised an eyebrow.

"Is that bad?"

"No, not at all. It's just been a while since someone's gone through the ranks this fast." Jordan thought on this.

"How long?" Dojo's brow creased.

"Ten years I think..." he looked wistfully at the sky. "Back when I was a raider of the ranks." Jordan scratched his chin. He'd guessed Dojo had been an assassin himself from his competence in battle and teachings. But he'd never inquired too much about it...

"So, you were an assassin once? How far did you go?" Dojo stretched slightly and cleared his throat.

"I started at about rank 11. Back then the UKAA was still small and had few assassins working for it. I joined up to make some quick cash with my swordsmanship." he patted his wine bottle blade. "Back then ol' Chateau Blanc here was just a regular blade, no wine bottle motif to it." Jordan looked at the blade too and wondered how it looked back then. "I got pretty far too. It was rank 6 where things went wrong." His brow furrowed further. He was silent for a few moments, gazing at the clouds. Jordan waited...

"So, what happened?" Dojo snapped out of his short trance and continued.

"I battled a young woman. About 20 years old, maybe younger. Called herself 'Harvester.' Brash and cocky, but little skill at all. The battle lasted five minutes exactly." Jordan was confused by this.

"So what was bad about it?" Dojo coughed slightly and rubbed under his nose.

"I let her live. Before the final blow, she was on the ground, quivering and crying. I already knew she wasn't ready for assassin work, but even this I didn't expect." he gritted his teeth slightly and his fingers clenched into a fist. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't end her life there and then." His face creased. "I left her alive...and I suffered for it." Jordan felt a little bad about inquiring further, but sucked it up.

"How did you?"

"She started a fire in my house." Jordan's eyes widened. "Lost everything from it...my home...my kids...my...my...my Jackie." Dojo bowed his head, almost in a moment of silence for her. Jordan wrung his fingers, feeling bad for ever bringing these up as the painful memories on his mentor's face were obvious. "I didn't show up to my next match and they kicked me out. And... that leads me up to today."

"Dojo...I'm sorry..." the words felt hollow. Nothing he could say would relive the pain, that much was clear. But at least he was showing sympathy, right?

"The memories aren't as painful anymore." he lied. "You get over these things...like you do with everything else in life."

Jordan's mobile cut through the sad atmosphere with an uncomfortabley upbeat ringtone. Jordan silenced it quickly by answering.

"Hello?"

"Your next match is arranged." came the cold voice of Melissa, slicing to the heart of her message quickly. "Head to the north of town, under the motorway."

"Whoa whoa whoa ice queen, what's with the rapid speech?"

"I'm busy Jordan. I can't waste too much time on dirt like you."

"Dirt? That's a new o-" he stopped when he realized she'd hung up and swore under his breath. He looked back at the homeless swordsman.

"Thanks for the training Dojo. " he got up, heading back for the bus.

"Good luck." Dojo called after him as he dashed out. He swigged his tea, and looked at his blade pensively. "We're getting too old for this..."

It took Jordan half an hour to get to the motorway. He didn't like this part of town. The motorway always had traffic roaring along it, creating a delightful stench of smoke all day long, and wafting around the town. Jordan took selective breaths to avoid inhaling the fumes... and that was when he spotted it.

It was a glowing circle upon the ground, a ring of energy floating just above it, slightly wider in diameter. It radiated with a force that seemed otherworldly. Just looking at it made Jordan feel uncomfortable. Was this what he was supposed to use? Did his opponent create this? He couldn't be sure... but as he approached... he felt that this strange thing was a gate. He drew close to the perimeter of the circle...and slowly, and resentfully, stepped into it. The world around him dissolved as the gate opened, his surroundings faded and he felt himself enter another world...

When the world around him stabilized again, he didn't recognize it. The ground under him felt solid enough, but there were cracks running through it, and dust and debris settled on the stone pavement. The city around him looked scarred, buildings missing chunks, holes blown in them, pieces of themselves lying like severed limbs all around him. Spatters of blood lined the walls around him and even on the road. Its scent filled his nostrils and made him almost retch, as if this blood had been freshly spilt. There was also a lingering smell of burning and smoke, as Jordan noted the plumes of smoke rising into the sky. The sky above him looked dark and cloudy, with a slight crimson tinge that made Jordan shudder.

What the hell was this place? And why had he been told to come here? Jordan drew Singing Death to help calm himself, feeling better with the blade in hand. He advanced up the battle torn streets, looking all around, feeling that something was out there. Something strong enough to do all this perhaps.

As he advanced further into the ruined city, he began to feel a presence. Someone, somewhere close by. Someone waiting for him. It made every bone in his body feel cold. His head spun when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. The tension was getting to him, making him paranoid. But still, he pressed on further, still ready to strike.

Soon he reached the town square. The remains of a fountain lingered in the middle, depicting a mermaid in a large wave flying out of the water, long since having dried up and now just looking sad in this dark place. It was then Jordan spotted the figure at last, as he emerged from behind the dead fountain.

Jordan couldn't see his face. It was obscured by a crinkled paper bag, covering his entire head. On the front of the bag, it had a little sticker of a yellow smiling face. It was a little disturbing considering the rest of his attire. He wore casual dark blue jeans and simple brown shoes, atop them he was sporting a white dress shirt, well it was white once anyway. Now it was mostly grey from dirt and stained with large patches of blood. Clenched in his right hand was a lollipop crossing sign that reminded Jordan of his old high school briefly. It too was coated in blood. The figure strode up to Jordan rather casually, and Jordan felt inclined to break the silence.

"Are you an assassin?" the figure responded with a hysterical chuckle.

"Assassin, murderer, psychopath, killer, they're all just the same fucking labels." He explained, swaying slightly, as if drunk.

"…well are you?" The guy struck the end of his sign into the ground.

"Who gives a fuck? If you're here to kill me then quit spewing shit!" Jordan's teeth ground together.

"I was only asking a question asshole!" the guy was quiet for a sec…and he chucked hysterically again.

"I know. I just enjoy winding up people I'm about to kill." Jordan twitched slightly as he moved into a running stance, sword pointed out in front of him. "You know…" began the figure, holding his sign in both hands now. "You need to be happy!" and with that, he suddenly leapt into the air at an unbelievable height, going almost as high as one of the buildings surrounding the square. Jordan watched him rise up high, mouth agape, until he realized the madman was coming back down. He barely moved back in time as the sign swiped past his head and hit the ground. He tried to use this to slash at his opponent, but the guy was fast and quickly brought the shaft of his weapon up to block. The bag masked man used the shaft to push Jordan back, before smashing Jordan in the face.

Jordan felt the fragile bone in his nose break and blood fly out of his nostrils as the disc of metal smacked him in the face. He used his free hand to quickly wipe it off and got back into a fighting stance. He ducked under another swipe to the face and tried to stab at his opponent, just for him to back off in time and kick him in the chest. Jordan lurched back up and blocked another incoming face strike, keeping his sword horizontal to stop the sign. That didn't stop the psycho; he just pressed his weapon down on the sword, pushing Jordan back, almost at the wall. Jordan was eventually forced to lower his weapon, and the madman smacked him in the face again. He got up again, rubbing his cheek slightly. His opponent lunged at him, trying to strike him in the stomach, but Jordan sidestepped in time and scored a hit on his arm. Even as the gash seeped with blood, the madman wasn't even fazed and just swung at him again, bashing Jordan's shoulder.

Jordan flinched slightly as pain ran through his left arm, but he used the attack as an opening to attack the madman again, stabbing at his stomach. But in one swift movement, his opponent leapt straight over him, landed behind and swept his weapon along the ground, knocking Jordan onto his face. Jordan tried to get back up, only to be rolled onto his back, and once again finding that flat disc of metal colliding with his face. He felt dizzy as his senses faded in and out, as the blows rained down on him. The madman kept him pinned under a foot and smacked his weapon down on the assassins head over and over.

"Be happy mother fucker!" the psycho shouted with glee as he continued to hit him. Veins of blood spread across Jordan's face, getting further and further spread as each blow rained down. He felt weak…he felt faint…he…he felt…pissed off!

Before the madman could land another blow, he felt the tip of Jordan's sword pierce his stomach, making him pause his attack and back off to hold his wound. Jordan, finding his second wind, got back on his feet and decided to turn the tables, charging at the madman. He slashed vertically, his blade meeting the shaft of the sign, but he pressed down with his sword and slid it toward the paper bag adorning his opponents head. The psycho thought fast and flicked his weapon up, flinging Jordan's blade back and allowing him another hit to Jordan's abdomen. Jordan snarled as the pain in his body increased, but he set his mind to the bag wearing freak and struck out again, embedding his blade in the man's arm. More blood stained the steel weapon, but the madman kept on him, trying to hit his face again. Jordan blocked in time and used his free hand to punch that big stupid smiling face on the bag.

As he went flying back, Jordan decided it was time to end the fight, leaping up above him, sword pointing down, thrusting down towards his opponents chest.

"Be happy!" the man screamed as Singing Death punctured his skin, tearing down his body in a horizontal line. Laughter echoed around them as the psycho serenaded his own death, eventually his voice weakened, gurgled, and died in his throat.

**MR HAPPY**

**DEAD**

Jordan withdrew his blade from the corpse and breathed a sigh of relief. His limbs ached, his nose was bleeding, his head was swimming, but he'd beaten the fucker. Beaten him good…

When he saw the reappearance of that strange gate, he thought he was finally hallucinating from all those head shots. He staggered over to it and collapsed in the glowing circle, transporting him back to the world he knew.

When he arrived, he was lying face down on the concrete, the stench of car fumes and smoke already filling his barely working nostrils. He couldn't move. He didn't want to move.

Luckily, someone happened to be waiting for him. She helped him up and took him back to the taxi she'd called. She hauled him into the back seat and told the driver to set a course for his house.

The driver didn't dare question what the hell happened to Jordan. He wanted to, his mind screamed at him to, but judging by his sword, it would be a bad career move.


	25. Rank 11: Columbus Finnegan

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 11: Columbus Finnegan

Jordan was unconscious for a whole day. All those hits to the face had done him in good and proper, and as he woke up, he felt dizzy. Images around him were blurred and he couldn't tell where he was. It was like some kind of fever dream.

Eventually, the world settled around him, and he recognised where has was. The stylish furnishings, the warm lighting, the clothes draped over the armchair, the comfy sofa he was lying on. He noted he had an ice pack on his head too. Vespia's place. Vespia herself came into the room and set a cup of tea down beside him.

"Glad to see you're awake." She began with a little smile.

"What…what happened…?"

"You passed out when you came back from that Akashic point. You looked awful." She pressed the hot mug into his hands and he took a sip.

"Akashic point?" he inquired, ignoring his now burning tongue.

"They're gateways to alternate worlds." she said all too casually for his liking.

"Gateways to other worlds? You mean like, supernatural and shit?" He was having a hard time grasping this as it was, and his dizzy state didn't help either.

"Yes Jordan. Don't tell me you're not a believer."

"Weird…" was all he could mumble. His brain meanwhile still could barely accept the idea of something as supernatural as this. He decided to ignore it and focused on drinking his tea. "So…you brought me here?"

"Yup. What, should I have left you there?" she teased.

"No…it's just, it seems kind of weird you'd be in a place like that." She was silent for a moment, pensively sipping from her mug.

"I… I was just passing by is all." Jordan doubted that and decided to press on.

"That's not likely Ves. It's noisy and smelly there. You could've taken a different route." Vespia looked about sheepishly. Why would she want to hide something from him?

"Well..it…it was just tha-" the phone saved her, and she quickly snatched it up. "Hello? Yes, this is Vespia…" she stopped and handed the phone to him. "For you." Jordan glared at her slightly and took the phone.

"Yes?"

"Your next match it set up." The ever chilling voice of Melissa told him. Jordan groaned.

"Where at?"

"He's waiting in the slums. Get a move on." She finished quickly and hung up. Jordan looked back as Vespia suspiciously.

"When I get back, I want you to tell me everything." He stated and then headed out the door, feeling better already. Vespia frowned to herself as she heard the door slam.

"If only I could."

The outskirts of town consisted of a flimsy ring of dilapidated homes and ruined buildings, inhabited by the poorest of the town. As Jordan headed through them, he felt like hundreds of eyes were on him, watching from unseen nooks and crannies, waiting to pop out and steal from him. But Jordan tried to ignore the feeling as he continued on towards his opponent.

He found his opponent in the oddest of ways. As he was walking up a dirty street, rubbish strewn all over the road, he heard someone clear their throat behind him, deliberately trying to get his attention. He turned sharply and discovered a man standing behind him. Said man was dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, slightly unzipped at the chest to reveal his rough and slightly muscular chest. His arms looked like tree branches, and his legs looked like tree trunks. His head was completely bald and he had a scraggly black beard growing around his chin. There was a look of pure spite in his eyes, the kind you only got from hating the world and your life three times over. Around his left arm, Jordan noticed there was a heavy looking ball and chain attached to it, the ball currently resting on the dirty ground below them. He pointed an interrogative finger at Jordan.

"Hey! You here for a fight?" Jordan turned, hand instinctively going to his blade's handle.

"Maybe. What's it to you skinhead?" The man snarled at him.

"Maybe it's because I'm waiting for some fuckface to try and kill me?" Jordan returned his angry look.

"And I'm looking for some shit for brains assassin I'm supposed to kill." The convict's lips parted, showing his teeth grinding against each other.

"Fuck you, pathetic little asshole." He retorted. Jordan felt his blood boil.

"Pathetic? Coming from a criminal? You're not even an assassin; you're just a jailbird looking for protection!" The convict's eyes went bloodshot hearing that, his pupils dilating and his hands clenching into fists, one of them closing around the chain on his arm. He lifted it above his head and began spinning it above him, giving Jordan time to draw Singing Death. Just in time too as the heavy cast iron ball came flying towards him. He ducked and rolled on the ground, getting up and performing an upward slash. Unfortunately, the criminal managed to stop it with the chain, wrapping it round the blade and wrenching the weapon from him. Jordan eeped as he suddenly felt defenceless as the convict now held his weapon... and surprisingly, he just tossed the sword behind him as it clattered to the ground. He spun up his ball and chain and approached him slowly, a solid look of concentration etched into his stony face. He felt the space between them shrinking. One of them would have to make a move eventually.

Jordan moved first, ducking to the left to try and slip past him, only to barely be missed by the iron ball hitting the ground in front of him, leaving a noticeable cater in the pavement. He tried to use this to run to the left of him, but received a swift punch to the jaw, sending him flying and causing a little cough of blood to escape his lips. He grunted and got back to his feet as the jailbird advanced on him. His brain buzzed as he formulated a plan. Chances were he'd get his nut smacked in for it, but he was willing to risk it. The toss up between staying alive and getting punched was easy to decide upon.

Jordan tackled the man before he could bring his wrecking ball down, punching him in the face a few times before the stronger criminal took control, clocking him in the face and rolling him off. But Jordan took his chance and got to his feet, jumping for his blade. With Singing death in his hands, he was ready to fight again.

The convict growled and hurled the ball and chain at him, which Jordan only narrowly dodged, rushing up to attack the guy, rising Singing Death for a high strike. The convict brought his chain up and caught the blade mid swing, barely able to hold the murderous steel back. A swift boot to the stomach sent Jordan back, as the convict dragged his ball and chain back into his hands, and clutching it in one hand attempted to cave Jordan's face in with it. Jordan moved in time, and the heavy cast iron sphere smashed into his shoulder.

Jordan cried out in pain as he heard a crack come from his shoulder. His entire left arm felt numb in seconds as he attempted to ignore the pain. A task made more difficult as he began to feel surges of pain in his shoulder, shooting through his limp arm. He gritted his teeth and curled his fingers into unbreakable fists as he glared at his opponent. He was done messing around, now it was time to kill. The familiar blue aura surrounded his sword as he lunged at the convict, scraping along his side and leaving an angry gash in his clothes and his stomach. The man roared like a tiger as the pain hit home, and he returned Jordan's glare. Both men's eyes were filled with hatred, blistering, white hot hatred. The battle was truly on now.

The convict ran at Jordan, this time spinning his ball and chain like it weighed nothing, crackling with that blue aura Jordan knew so well. Jordan struck Singing Death into the swirling chain vortex, watching as it wrapped itself around the blade. Summoning all his strength, Jordan raised the blade, slicing right through the chain and almost into the head of his opponent, who only just managed to duck away in time. A fist flew and smacked into Jordan's jaw, probably dislocating it, but the adrenaline rush of the fight meant he no longer cared for the pain. He lashed out at the convict again, who ducked under his swing and brought his fist up for another strike, only hitting thin air as Jordan ducked and rolled across the dusty ground. Once back up, their weapons clashed, the convict's fist pressing against the side of Jordan's blade in a battle of strength. Jordan felt his knee's buckle as he leant back, the criminal's strength pressing him down to the ground. It seemed like only a matter of time as his other fist raised and came flying into Jordan's face.

It was the kick to the solar plexus that stopped the convict, Jordan somehow finding the strength to kick him right where it hurt, knocking the breath out of him and sending him reeling. Whilst recovering, Jordan decided to end the fight there and there, rushing at his opponent one more time.

Two strikes, two vertical strikes and the man's muscular arms went sailing through the air, leaving twin trails of crimson fluids, staining the ground as they flew. The convict howled like a wolf in a bear trap, sinking to his knee's as his body bled from both sides. Jordan looked down upon the convict, feeling a sense of slight superiority, as he raised his blade and finished him off, sending the head flying. Another day, another head cut off.

**Columbus Finnegan**

**DEAD**

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief as he sheathed his blade, not before cleaning it on the criminal's jumpsuit of course. He felt tired now. Using his mojo so often was really taxing. An early night and pizza would be called for. Maybe even…

"Hey, you!" came a voice from behind him. Jordan turned, and standing behind him were three figures, standing in a line. The first was a copper haired man in a brown coat, a fedora adorning his head and his eyes were bespectacled. The second looked like a jail officer, dressed in navy blue and a set of keys hanging from a loop in his belt. The third was dressed in black, a hood adorning his head with two covered holes for his eyes.

"Was that man Columbus Finnegan?" The jailer asked, hands in his pockets. Jordan turned to face them.

"So what if it was?" He snarled, not in the mood for another fight. The three figures looked at one another and slowly nodded.

"Well, thanks for doing out job for us." Said the hooded one, and the three turned to leave. Jordan raised an eyebrow as they left, wondering briefly who they were…but right now, he had bigger fish to fry, back home to be precise.

However, once he arrived back home, Vespia was gone, as he'd expected. Nevertheless he face palmed and groaned, slumping on his bed to rest. He didn't remember falling asleep for those 30 minutes. It just came out of nowhere. It gave him a short boost though, enough to make him pick up the phone and call Vespia.

One ring…two rings…three rings…four rings…five-

"Hello?" she finally answered.

"It's me Ves." He said it was deadpan serious as he could. There was silence for a brief moment. "You owe me an explanation."

"Melissa asked me to, ok?"

"Why would she do that?" this was genuinely confusing. Melissa made it clear a few times she didn't care for him, so why send someone to collect him? Someone who didn't even work for her anymore, no less.

"I don't know, she just called me and said I should go to the underpass."

"Not even an explanation?"

"Just drop it Jordan, it's not important." And then the line went dead. Jordan sighed and sprawled out on his bed again.

"Not important…the way you just acted made it important…" he mumbled to himself. Then, he snatched up the phone and dialled up the pizza joint. He'd need a lot tonight.


	26. Rank 10: Democrobot

No more Heroes: Similarity and causality

Rank 10: Democrobot

Beeeeeeep.

"Hello Mr Argo. The election is drawing near. Have you decided on your vote? If not, please allow the labour party to make the most of your precious vote. Thank you, and have a nice day."

The same message, four days on the run, always at 9AM on the dot. Jordan had enough trouble sleeping as it was, this new propaganda push wasn't going to help any. The election for the town's MP was coming up, so far as Jordan knew there were four candidates, all of them probably as slimy and sneaky as their competitors. His views on politics were pretty concrete, just don't get involved. Unless it was something that affected him directly, that was a different matter.

So as the potential for another lie in morning was wasted, he rolled off the bed and into a pizza box, face first, with a few slices of bacon and sausage left behind in it. He rose up, cheese now stuck to his face and stumbled into the bathroom, going about his daily wash as bacon chunks clogged the drain. With a little sigh, he stumbled over to his window and shifted the curtain away. Bright sunlight bathed him and his little hellhole. It was such a nice day…shame his mood wasn't as fair.

He thought about the day ahead as he dressed. Vespia hadn't been returning his calls recently, so she was out. He could go and see Dojo, get some more training in. Or maybe go and see that blacksmith. Still, did he really want to spend what could've been a free day, training?

So he decided to take a walk for a change to enjoy the weather. He took Singing Death with him too, just in case Melissa pulled a surprise battle on him or if anyone was feeling cocky. The hot sun rays lashed over his face and he felt awash with warmth. It made a nice change really, refreshing ironically enough. The streets seemed empty today, only the odd passer-by coming through. He wondered why briefly, was everyone still in bed and he'd gotten up earlier than he'd thought?

He dropped into Isaac's place when he passed by, the heat and smoke holding little effect over him thanks to the hot day. The figure of Isaac lumbered over with a broad grin.

"You've come far since I last saw you." He chuckled, slapping Jordan's shoulder a little too hard, still meaning well.

"Yeah. I'm close to the top now, and then I can get out of this mess." He felt confident in his words now.

"11 now isn't it?"

"Yep. By the way, you think you can upgrade my sword at all?" he asked casually, slipping Singing Death out so the blacksmith could examine it. After a moment of tilting it and looking down the blade, he concluded

"It's held out well so far, but I can meld in some stronger metal to give it more of an edge. It'll be heavier though." Jordan pondered this for a moment. A stronger blade was always good, but if it were heavier, would he have trouble swinging it?

"Sure, go ahead." He eventually replied, slipping a hand into his pocket for his wallet. Ten minutes of banging and hammering later, the wallet was £85 lighter.

"Good luck with your match today!" Isaac called just as he was out the door, blade now cradled in its sheath again. His words made Jordan fumble and turn back.

"Match today? What makes you thi-" as if on cue, his mobile rang. After a brief sigh, he picked up and answered.

"Yeah?"

"Enjoying the sun today?" asked Melissa, oddly informal for a greeting from her.

"Well I was until you called." Jordan snidely replied.

"That's no way to talk to me now, is it?" she goaded him, but he was having none of it.

"Just shut up and tell me where to go." He heard a noise of annoyance from her end and he enjoyed a little grin of victory.

"Head into the square, his speech should almost be over now." Jordan frowned slightly. Did this mean this was going to be another public fight, TV broadcasted and all?

"On my way." He said and hung up, before she could. Another little victory he enjoyed as he made his way to the square.

"And, in conclusion, I will continue to support and protect this community, if I am elected your MP!" finished a public speaker, whom Jordan noticed once he arrived in the square. There was a cheering crowd gathered in front of a stage. Standing onstage with a microphone in hand was a smartly dressed but odd figure. His suit was deep blue with light blue pinstripes, and he wore white gloves on both his hands. His leather shoes were black and polished to a mirror shine, glinting slightly in the sunlight. All this seemed normal, until Jordan spotted his face. His entire head was sleek and silver, metallic and inhuman. Around his facial area, an octagonal screen was situated, dark green contrasting with the silver. On his face, there were brighter green pixels, which seemed to be displaying facial expressions, for example they were in a grinning formation right now. Jordan concluded he was either a robot, or some kind of strange musician with a fetish for overly complicated lit helmets. He took note of the oddly large silver suitcase resting by his left leg.

"Now, are there any questions?" the speaker asked the crowd, a reporter dressed in the worst shade of brown possible stood up high.

"Mr Democrobot, you've sa-"

"Please, just Democrobot." He cut in quickly, offsetting the reporter.

"Uh, fine…but, what do you have to say regarding the unrest regarding your uh…status." He seemed nervous just to talk about it.

"You're referring to my status as a machine." Democrobot summarized unflinchingly. "I have not hidden this fact from the community and those who support me. I believe this country is a far more tolerant society than it was years ago, and that even machines may one day find a proper place in society, aside from all the scaremongering. I believe in freedom, my friends. Freedom for us all." That really set the crowd off as they clapped and applauded him, and the journalist crumpled his notepad in defeat. The crowds started to leave, splitting off left and right, as the politician was left standing at the podium, as Jordan approached in a vague attempt to look daunting. He still needed practice.

"Quite the public speaker. Is there a specific program for that in your CPU?" Jordan joked. Democrobot just continued to smile pleasantly…well as pleasantly as green pixels could look anyway.

"It is part of who I am, my friend. A part of my being."

"But you're a robot. You have no being, you're just a mechanism." The smile faded as the two pixels at the corners of his mouth formed a straight line.

"I'm more than that. I've been accepted as a member of this community, and of this country. They do not see me as a machine, they see me as one of them."

"But you AREN'T one of them." Jordan stressed, wondering just how far he could push this seemingly calm and collected MP. "You're nothing but metal and programming, no matter how much anyone 'accepts' you. You know you can't leave that behind." Two pixels raised as his eyebrows made him look cross.

"You're here to battle me, Jordan Argo, not to engage in political discussion."

"Now you're dodging my questions." He retorted sharply. "Answer me. Do you ever think they'll really accept you?" The machine was quiet at this. His face remained unchanged for the longest time…but then, the pixels at the side of his mouth rose again, forming a wicked smile.

"Whether they do, or they don't, I'm slated to win this election. Once I'm MP, I'll change this community. In fact, I've already been helping it from the shadows, by erasing the lowest links of the class chain. Like yourself, for instance." Upon these words, he picked up his briefcase and twisted the handle 90 degree's clockwise, and sliding it down the case, oddly enough making a second handle appear further down, which he took hold of.

"So, you think that be cutting through the assassin ranks, you're cleaning up the town?" Jordan sniggered. It did make sense, but coming from a machine, it sounded like a bad sci-fi film plot.

"It's interesting how a machine can have a greater concept of justice than a human can, isn't it?" he seemed to taunt as his heavy briefcase's front end suddenly unclicked and flipped round under the case. From inside, a long barrel began to slide out, large enough to contain a man's fist, rounded and dangerous. As it drew fully out and began to spin, Jordan's heart sank as he realized just what the machine's weapon was.

Upon this discovery, he ran for it, leaping behind the nearest bit of cover he could find, in this case a collection of metal bins, as he heard the storm of gunfire charge up and bullets clip his heels. The mini gun spun down as he was hidden for now. He could hear the machine approaching him. He had to move, and soon.

Fast as he could, he was up and running for the nearest building. He heard the whirr of the mini gun spinning up again, and made a dive just as the bullets raked over the ground. He crouched as he tried to come up with a plan. Running and hiding wouldn't save him, he had to take action if he was going to survive this. The machine was approaching, heavy clanking footsteps on the earth, weapon in hand. Jordan's brain buzzed as he crept along the wall, keeping close to avoid any attacks, ducking around the corner. He took to running, round the other two corners of the building, intent on striking Democrobot from behind. As he rounded the corner again however, he found Democrobot lying in wait, barrel spinning. With a sharp yelp, he leapt back behind the wall, barely missing the tornado of bullets.

"Seems you can talk the talk, but not walk the walk!" the machine mocked him as the storm paused and he approached the hiding assassin. Jordan rethought the situation as he ran along another wall. Needless to say, a straight up fight would land him in shit, fast. He had to take the machine by surprise, it was his only chance. So, he ran back across the square and hid behind the podium the politician had spoken from. He heard the machine round the building's corner and trudge across the square. He knew he was hidden...he couldn't be seen...so, why could he hear the mini gun spinning up?

The assassin dived as the swarm of bullets soared over his head, rolling to his feet and running hotfoot behind the nearest cover, in this case a brick wall.

"Did you not suspect a machine would have infrared sensors, Mr Argo?" Jordan swore, as his plan for sneaking up on him seemed to go out the window. Jordan grumbled and began to rethink his strategy… he couldn't take him from behind then. The only other option was… from above. So Jordan began to run, going behind the building and looking for a way up. He came across a drainpipe with brackets that looked brand new. Deciding that this was his best bet, he leapt onto the pipe and began to climb, awkwardly shuffling up the pipe, trying to keep a strong grip, and only just managing to get onto the roof. He crouched low and listened, hearing the footsteps of the heavy machine below him. He crept over to the lip of the roof and peeked over, spying the machine walking below him. Without hesitation, Jordan drew his blade and leapt over the edge, feeling his mojo flow into his blade. But as he fell, the machine looked up and swung his weapon up, blocking the blade with the gun's heavy barrel. The two pieces of metal clashed in mid-air, but Jordan's blade kept going, sliding through the hefty barrel like a hot knife through butter. The machine's pixelated face became one of surprise as his weapon was useless, whilst Jordan landed and prepared for another strike. The machine quickly hurled what remained of his weapon at him and backed up slightly, as Jordan's blade sliced through it. Jordan stood there with a cocky smirk on his face.

"Tables have turned machine. What'll you do now?" The pixels shifted into an evil grin as the machine rolled up his left sleeve, pulling it back to reveal more of his sleek metal arm.

"This now, Mr Argo." He tapped his wrist twice, and the midsection of his forearm lifted up out of the rest of his arm, and from a hole at one end, a strange cylindrical device popped out, which the machine seized with his right hand, drawing it out. With the click of a button, a shaft of blue light erupted from the small device, shining brightly as it seemed to form a blade.

"A beam katana…" Jordan stood there, shocked. He'd heard about those, seen them on the covers of tech savvy magazines, but he'd never seen one up close. Now we would get a crash course in dealing with them, as the machine swung the bright blade at him. The beam blade met Jordan's sword mid swing and the weapons were locked for a few moments, Jordan glaring at those green pixel eyes of his.

The robot broke their stalemate as he stepped to the left and turned the beam katana off, a Jordan found himself falling forward, only just managing to steady himself in time. The beam katana was back on and swinging for his neck and Jordan twisted quickly to block, pushing back on the machine in an attempt to overpower him. It failed spectacularly as the machine shunted him back and brought his blade in for a stab at Jordan's chest. He managed to sidestep in time and strike at the machine's back, his blade sinking into the mechanical flesh beneath, tearing the suit too. Democrobot twisted on the spot and struck at him again, Jordan jumping back to avoid it. Democrobot ran at him, blade raised high, bringing it down onto Jordan, who only just managed to block in time. Thinking fast, Jordan ducked out under the machine as the beam missed him, and slashed at the machine's side, making another gash in the machine.

"Insolent little…" the machine mumbled as he swung his arm, almost decapitating Jordan had he not ducked in time. Democrobot's swings kept coming, slashing faster than Jordan could keep up with, choosing to dodge instead, side stepping, ducking and weaving around the flashing blade, the swings getting a little too close for his liking. Jordan ducked under another blow and struck his blade on one of his legs, causing enough damage to make the machine go down on one knee, as his leg sparked from the damage. He tried to finish the fight then and there, attempting to plunge the blade into the machine's screen, only to have him fight back, blocking his attack and punching him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. It felt like someone had smacked him with a iron girder as he collapsed back, gasping for breath and dropping his blade.

Both assassins stayed down for a while, recovering from the attacks. But it was the machine who was first back up, looming over the crouching Jordan and raising his blade to end the fight then and there.

"Goodbye, Mr Argo." He sneered, as his blade came down. But Jordan had been clever. Concentrating all his strength into his blade, he swung it hard at the machines legs while remaining crouched. The blade cleaved through both of the machines limbs and sent it toppling onto its back with a simulated cry of surprise. One down, Jordan made his move, leaping up and raising Singing Death high, before striking it down into the machine's face. The blade pierced the glass, the wires, the circuitry, and the metal on the back. Democrobot sparked and fizzed as he tried to get up, finally going still as his circuitry died.

**DEMOCROBOT**

**DEAD**

With a flourish, Jordan redrew his blade from the machine's husk and slipped it back into its sheath. He turned to leave, before something caught his eye. The glowing blade that Democrobot had used. He bent down and picked it up. The katana felt light in his hand, but nice and sturdy. No doubt that blade would be a deadly weapon too… So, Jordan turned off the blade and pocketed it, deciding to keep the trophy for later battles. He left the square then and there as the machine's body continued to buzz. Jordan rubbed his chin and wondered how he should spend the rest of the day. He ended up stopping by a café for a sundae. He deserved a treat after all, not everyone kills a machine assassin often.


End file.
